/jry    y^/' 


y  ^/'-v', 


A 


^  / f  'i^'^ 


,t<|l  ai4 


f 


A   GIRL'S   WINTER   IN    INDIA 


AN    INDIAN    RAJAH. 


A 


GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA 


BY 

MARY  THORN  CARPENTER 


raft!)  Illlustrati0n!3 


NEW    YORK 

ANSON    D.  F.  RANDOLPH   &   COMPANY 

(incorporated) 
182    Fifth    Aven  u  e 


Copyright,  1892, 
By  Anson  D.  F.  Randolph  and  Company, 

INCORPORATED. 


SlnibEtsttg  ^tess: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


STo  mg  Jatjet, 


FOR    WHOSE    PLEASURE    THIS    JOURNAL    WAS    WRITTEN;    THAT 

DESPITE   THE   DISTANCE    SOMETHING   IN    IT   MAY    HELP 

HIM    TO    SEE   WHERE   HIS    EYES    CANNOT   REACH, 

FOR   WE    HAVE   "NEVER   THE   TIME   AND 

PLACE   AND   THE   LOVED   ONE 

ALL   TOGETHER." 

MiLLBROOK, 

Dutchess  County,  N.  Y. 


''Only  a  learner, 
A  quick  or  a  slow  one; 
Just  a  discerner, 
I  would  teach  no  one." 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

NAPLES   AND   THE   MEDITERRANEAN. 

Page 

From  Rome  to  Naples. —A  Day  at  Pompeii.  —  The 
Pleasure-Houses  of  the  Romans.  —  Lunch  in  Augustus's 
Temple.  —  Other  Sights,  and  Return  by  Carriage.  — 
The  "Chusan."  — A  Model  Peninsular  and  Oriental 
Steamer.  —  Life  on  Shipboard.  —  Sea  Games.  —  Reach 
Egypt 

CHAPTER   IL 

PORT   SAID  AND   THROUGH    THE   SUEZ   CANAL. 

On  Donkeys  at  Port  Said. —A  Night  on  the  Canal.— 
Sand-storms.  —  The  "  Chusan  "  tied  up.  —  The  Red 
Sea.  —  Intense  Heat  on  Shipboard.  —  Glimpses  of 
Holy  Places 


12 


CHAPTER   in. 

ON   THE   INDIAN   OCEAN. 

Volcanic  Aden.  —  Bargaining  for  Baskets.  —  Rowed 
ashore  by  Somalese  Boatmen.  —  The  Camel  Market. 
—  A  Camel  Ride. —  An  Ocean  Cotillon.  —  Arrival  at 
Ceylon.  —  The  Night  of  Waiting 24 


VIU  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   IV. 

THE   ISLAND   OF   CEYLON. 


Page 


Singalese  Catamarans.  —  An  Oriental  Hotel.  —  A  Day 
with  Native  Jewellers.  —  In  Jinrikishas  at  Colombo.  — 
Through  a  Jungle.  —  Kalanie,  the  Buddhist  Tope.  —  By 
Mountain  Railway  to  Kandy.  —  In  the  Mountains  .     .      34 


CHAPTER   V. 

IN  A   SINGALESE   PARADISE. 

Kandian  Curios  and  Kandian  Cunning.  —  Unprogressive 
Native  Customs.  —  A  Drive  to  a  Tea-estate.  —  Making 
Ceylon  Tea.  —  The  Eden  of  the  East.  —  At  Peraden- 
iya.  —  Two  American  Girls  in  a  Buddhist  Library.  — 
The  Indian  Ocean  from  Galle  Face.  —  A  Glorious 
Sunset 57 

CHAPTER  VI. 

BOMBAY. 

At  Sea  in  the  Tropics.  —  A  Kaleidoscope  of  Eastern 
Races.  —  The  Parsees  of  Bombay.  —  Tower  of  Si- 
lence. —  Royal  Yacht  Club  Ball.  —  A  Native  Feast  in 
our  Honor  at  the  Mission.  —  Animal  Hospital. — 
Flower  Market,  its  Sights  and  Sounds 74 

CHAPTER   VIL 

ALLAHABAD. 

Travelling  with  a  Surati  Servant.  —  His  Talents  and  his 
Failures.  —  Laurie's  Hotel.  —  A  Mission  Bungalow.  — 
A  Noble  Life  Work  at  Allahabad.  —  The  Native  Dis- 


CONTENTS.  ix 

Page 
pensary.  —  A  Zenana  and  its  Inmates.  —  Cashmerian 
Women.  —  The    Fort.  —  Brahmin    Duplicity.  —  The 
Melah.  —  Holy  Fakirs 98 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

CALCUTTA. 

The  City  of  Palaces.  —  The  Great  Eastern  Hotel.  —  A 
Singular  Gharri.  —  Starting  for  a  Brahmo-Somaj 
Bazaar.  —  The  Hindu  Reformer's  House.  — The  Czar- 
owitch's  Entrance  into  Calcutta.  —  The  Ball  at  the 
Viceroy's.  —  A  Garden-party  at  Government  House. 
—  Prince  Furrokshah.  —  Calcutta  Turf  Club.  —  A 
Walk  in  the  Eden  Gardens.  —  Calcutta  Diversions.  — 
Salaam 114 


CHAPTER  IX. 

BENARES   AND  THE   BRAHMINS. 

The  Bridge  over  the  Ganges.  —  On  the  Sacred  River.  — 
The  Burning  Ghaut.  —  The  Cow  Temple.  —  Shrine  of 
the  Monkeys.  —  The  Well  of  Knowledge.  —  An  Idol 
Bazaar. — The  Sarnath  of  Buddha,  its  Ruins,  and  its 
Antiquity I34 

CHAPTER  X. 

AT   LUCKNOW   AND   CAWNPORE. 

Its  System  of  Hotel  Management.  —  Fur-dealers  from 
the  Snows.  —  Curious  Native  Bazaars.  —  Their  Disad- 
vantages and  Peculiarities.  —  The  King  of  Oude's 
Palace.  —  Mutiny  Scenes.  —  By  Oude  and  Rohilkund 


X  CONTENTS. 

Page 
Railroad    to    Cawnpore.  —  The   Massacre    Ghaut.  — 
Vivid  Remembrances  of  the    Struggle   remaining  in 
Cawnpore. —  A  Mutiny  Story 154 

CHAPTER   XL 

AGRA  AND  THE   TAJ   MAHAL. 

An  Emperor's  Love.  —  A  Sentimental  Excursion.  —  The 
Marvel  of  Agra.  —  Akbar's  Pastimes.  —  In  his  Im- 
perial Pavilions.  —  St.  John's  College.  —  Student  Life. 

—  An    Evening  of  Hindu  Rags  and  American  Songs. 

—  Leave-taking  in  India 168 


'£> 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

AT   FUTTEHPORE    SIKRI. 

An  Excursion  to  Akbar's  Versailles.  —  Stories  of  Thugs 
and  Kali.  — The  Great  Mogul.  —  Sahm  Chisti.  —  A 
Moslem  Saint's  Tomb.  —  Marble  Mosques  and  Lace- 
work   Screens.  —  Birloul  the    Favorite,  —  his  House. 

The  Merry  Monarch's  Many  Brides.  —  Crosses  and 

Crescents  in  a  Saracenic  Ruin.  —  English  Rule  in  In- 
dia.—  A  Conversation.  —  Another  Caste  for  India       .     191 


CHAPTER  XHL 

DELHI   AND  ITS   RUINS. 

The  City  of  Shah  Jehan.  —  Delhi  Tradesmen  and  Native 
Jewelry. —A  Transaction  in  the  Indian  Manner. — 
The  Lahore  Gate.  —  The  Imperial  Palace.  —  Moti 
Musjid. — Rung  Mahal. — The  Peacock  Throne.— 
Saracenic  Splendor  in  the  East 199 


CONTENTS.  Xi 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

A   WELSH    RAREBIT. 

Page 
A   Picnic   at   the   Kootub.  —  Among   the   Ruins   of  the 
Moguls.  — Altmish's  Tower.  —  Humayoon's  Tomb.  — 

The  Kootub.  —  The  Mosques.  —  Cooking  a  Rarebit. 

Native  Curiosity  and  European  Perseverance      .     .     .     208 

CHAPTER  XV. 

JEYPORE,    THE    CITY    OF    THE    RAJPUTS. 

A  Confectionery  City.—  Biblical  Sights.  —  The  Rajputs. 

—  Legends.  —Curious  Currency.  —  The  Elephants.  — 
Gardens  and  Zoo.  —  A  Fighting  Cheetah.  —  The 
Maharajah's  Palace  and  Royal  Zenana.  —  The  Im- 
perial Stables 220 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

AN   ELEPHANT  RIDE  TO   AMBER. 

Early  Morning  in  Jeypore.  —  The  Maharajah's  Ele- 
phants. —  The  Ancient  Palace.  —  Devi's  Shrine.  —  The 
Priests.  —  The  Shish  Mahal.  —  Views  from  the  Palace. 

—  Monkeys  and  Wild  Peacocks.  —  A  Tourist  at 
Amber.  —  Return  to  Bombay.  — Elephanta  Island.— 
The  Steamship  "  Ganges."  —  In  the  Harbor.— Good-by 

to  India 232 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

An  Indian  Rajah Frontispiece 

Road-Makers 59 

CooLiN  Brahmins 85 

A  Mission-School  Girl 90 

Women  carrying  Water 99 

A  Bullock  Cart  and  Shanker 102 

A  Native  Hindu  Family no 

Ruins  of  Temple  near  the  Kootub 210 

Nautch  Girls 216 

A  Grain  Bazaar 221 

Gateway  Maharajah's  Palace 226 

An  Ekha,  Jeypore 233 


A    GIRUS   WINTER   IN   INDIA. 


CHAPTER    I. 

NAPLES   AND   THE   MEDITERRANEAN. 

December  i,  i8  — . 

TDROSPER  MERIMEE,  writing  ot  the  transition 
^  from  Rome  to  Naples,  said  :  "  It  is  comedy  suc- 
ceeding tragedy,"  —  which  is  certainly  a  vivid  com- 
parison. However,  at  night  one  city  looks  very 
much  like  another.  Reaching  Naples  about  seven 
in  the  evening,  we  were  driven  through  the  ruts  and 
holes  of  the  Neapolitan  streets  by  a  most  circuitous 
route  to  the  Hotel  Grande  Bretagne,  opposite  a 
beautiful  park,  that  Watteau  might  have  painted  as 
a  background  for  his  stately  ladies.  Leaving  the 
Roman  Campagna,  the  railroad  journey  was  through 
a  succession  of  blue  Albanian  mountains,  their 
rugged  peaks  softened  by  filmy  clouds,  while  the 
greenest  of  grasses  and  climbing  roses  bordered  the 
hillsides,  until  now  we  are  in  Naples,  more  dear  and 
dirty  than  poet  or  realist  ever  described. 

I 


2  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

This  morning  the  sun  burst  through  our  rooms; 
and  rushing  to  the  window,  we  saw,  full  in  front, 
the  matchless  Bay  of  Naples,  and  the  blue  islands 
beyond,  so  soft  in  coloring,  and  bluer  still  than  the 
deep  blue  water  and  the  cloudless  sky  above  them. 
The  day  proved  sunny  and  warm,  and  we  ordered  a 
pair  of  good  horses  for  a  drive  to  Pompeii.  The 
courier  stows  away  our  lunch  in  the  big  landau, 
leaps  to  a  seat  beside  the  driver,  and  with  a  scream 
to  the  horses  we  are  flying  down  toward  the  bay. 
The  air  was  delightful  and  breezy,  although  the 
wind  sometimes  came  in  gusts  and  stirred  up  the 
dust  of  the  road.  In  the  dir>tance  are  the  purple 
hills,  bleak  and  rugged,  where  a  white  patch  on  a 
seemingly  inaccessible  point  means  a  convent  retreat 
of  some  Neapolitan  sisterhood.  Out  on  the  wide 
streets  which  lead  into  the  town  there  was  life  and 
bustle,  and  all  the  sights  and  sounds  of  human 
activity.  Donkeys,  with  panniers  of  fresh  green 
vegetables  on  each  side,  bigger  than  the  best  of 
them,  were  trotting  to  the  market-place,  their  gayly 
studded  harness  surmounted  on  the  saddle  with  brass 
weather-vanes,  which  answer  purposes  of  color  and 
usefulness.  Little  Neapolitan  children,  sitting  at  the 
doors  of  their  houses  bronzed  and  happy,  were  busy 
plaiting  baskets;  while  the  older  girls,  with  ker- 
chiefs and  little  peasant  caps,  sit  demurely  with  their 
knitting.     Farther  on,  among  the  suburban  gardens, 


NAPLES  AND    THE  MEDITERRANEAN  3 

are  the  villas.  And  to  show  how  perfectly  impartial 
and  honest  a  woman  can  be,  I  am  willing  to  confess 
that  the  villas  look  much  dilapidated.  The  pink 
stucco  is  falling  off  in  unsightly  patches,  and  the 
gardens  are  overrun  with  weeds,  making  a  wilderness 
of  orange  and  lemon-trees  growing  rank  and  wild 
among  the  palms.  The  names  of  the  villas  have  a 
most  transplanted  look,  —  a  wandering  air,  —  as  you 
read  on  the  pillared  gateways  of  a  neglected,  half- 
ruined  mansion  an  inscription  in  English  letters, 
"Villa,  Sweet  Home." 

One  cannot  imagine  a  sadder  sight  than  Pompeii. 
I  will  only  mention  the  one  thing  which  forces  you 
to  realize  that  this  still  and  quiet  place  of  the  dead 
was  once  filled  with  intense  life  and  movement  of 
the  splendid  old  Roman  days.  This  is  the  pavement 
of  the  roadways,  which  is  worn  away  in  deep  ruts, 
where  the  chariots  once  rolled  in  their  great  pro- 
cessions. The  streets  are  lined  with  marble  houses ; 
the  pavements,  corridors,  courts,  and  chambers  are 
so  well  preserved  that  in  a  day  or  two  workmen 
could  put  them  in  condition  for  occupation.  Time 
has  spread  over  the  frescoed  walls  no  dim  varnish 
of  age,  and  the  color,  which  takes  its  name  from  the 
old  city,  is  as  bright  to-day  as  when  it  was  laid  on  by 
the  Roman  artist.  Nothing  that  Nature  has  wrought, 
even  in  Italy,  is  quite  so  perfect  as  the  country 
about  Pompeii.     There  is  such  a  profusion  of  waving 


4  A    GULL'S    WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

palms,  such  clumps  of  orange  and  lemon  trees,  such 
mossy  old  buildings  under  a  luxuriant  trellis  of 
grapes  and  leaves,  although  the  dust  has  whitened 
each  poor  little  leaf,  and  the  summer  sun  has 
scorched  and  yellowed  the  vines.  It  would  have 
seemed  a  perfect  enchantment  to  live  there;  but 
the  burning,  smoking  mountain,  like  a  grim  death's- 
head,  is  always  present  in  the  landscape,  pictur- 
esque beyond  the  power  of  words  to  describe,  but 
weird  and  oppressive,  so  that  we  shivered  when  the 
flame  and  smoke  seemed  to  shoot  up  more  briskly, 
driving  down  the  fire  and  stones  in  our  direction,  and 
we  wondered  why  the  hill-dwellers  on  its  stony  sides 
did  not  seem  to  mind  it,  although  they  must  be  pow- 
dered snow-white  at  times  by  the  dusty  lava.  Some- 
times their  dwellings  seem  entirely  blotted  out  with 
the  dense  clouds  of  smoke  ;  but  when  Vesuvius  shows 
a  bright  flame  against  the  evening  sky,  the  people 
know  it  for  a  welcome  sign.  No  earthquakes  ever 
occur  with  the  mountain  in  eruption. 

We  passed  hours  walking  through  the  excavated 
streets,  where  they  show  you  Diomede's  lordly  house 
and  the  Museum,  where  the  petrified  victims  are 
stretched  out  in  their  dying  agonies,  in  glass  cases, 
gazed  upon  by  the  curious,  as  in  a  morgue.  Here  is 
the  poor  hound  who  met  the  same  fate  as  his  master, 
turned  to  stone,  his  legs  drawn  up  in  an  attitude  of 
most  hideous  suffering.     And  we  hurry  away  from 


NAPLES  AND    THE  MEDITERRANEAN.  5 

these  painful  sights  to  Augustus's  Temple,  where  we 
rested  and  ate  our  luncheon  gladly  on  the  tiled  floor 
in  the  room  where  the  priest  lived.  It  is  quite  im- 
possible to  see  all  the  interesting  things  in  Pompeii, 
but  we  do  not  regret  it;  there  remains  enough  to 
form  an  impressive  souvenir.  Pompeii  is  the  open 
sesame  to  the  ancient  world,  as  if  by  magic  the  past 
has  been  summoned  to  appear  before  us,  and  one  is 
instructed  and  interested  here  beyond  any  place  in 
all  the  world. 

We  have  many  things  to  attend  to  before  taking 
the  ship,  letters  to  write,  boxes  to  label;  and  so 
return  in  haste,  for  to-morrow  we  will  be  saying, 
"Addio,  la  bella  NapoH." 

December  6. 
A  great  black  ship  lay  at  anchor  off  the  curving 
shores  of  the  Bay  of  Naples;  and  on  the  crowded 
wharf,  among  the  coral  venders,  orange  stalls,  and 
idle  sailors,  were  three  Americans,  guarding  numer- 
ous boxes  and  packages  to  be  put  on  board  the 
Indian  steamer  by  the  little  tug,  flying  the  Penin- 
sular and  Oriental  colors  —  a  square,  checkered 
with  blue,  white,  yellow,  and  red  —  on  her  masts. 
On  board  the  "  Chusan,"  the  dimensions  are  more 
those  of  an  immense  yacht,  half  the  size  of  our 
enormous  Atlantic  steamers,  but  for  that  matter 
much  more  agreeable,  having  no  throbbing  motion 
of  powerful    machinery   or   the    continual  shiver  of 


6  A    GIRL'S    WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

the  screw.  Her  tonnage  registers  only  4,496,  which 
we  were  surprised  to  find  in  a  ship  stanch  enough 
to  take  us  through  the  Mediterranean,  down  the 
Red  Sea,  and  over  the  Indian  Ocean.  A  number 
of  natives,  Lascars,  Hindus,  and  Mahometans  Hne 
the  ship's  deck.  All  the  sailors  are  Orientals, 
as  well  as  the  stokers;  and  the  rough  work  of 
the  ship  is  done  by  Lascars,  for  English  seamen 
would  be  utterly  unfit  for  the  climate  we  are  com- 
ing to  in  a  few  days.  The  native  sailors  were  in 
most  summery  attire,  wearing  picturesque  red  tur- 
bans, with  white  trousers  reaching  scarcely  to  their 
bare  brown  knees,  and  sometimes  a  scant  over-gar- 
ment girdled  about  with  gayly  colored  sashes.  In 
the  large  and  well-lighted  saloon  below,  the  pas- 
sengers were  having  four  o'clock  tea,  and  hugely 
enjoying  themselves ;  but  most  of  our  fellow  pas- 
sengers had  landed  here  to  see  Naples,  and  break 
the  monotonous  journey  from  London.  The  smok- 
ing-rooms are  large  and  airy,  the  decks  are  clean, 
with  wide  promenades  reaching  almost  from  stem 
to  stern;  and  when  we  finally  explore  our  cabin, 
and  find  it  well  lighted  by  a  big  square  port-hole, 
roomy  and  luxurious,  with  table,  and  even  chairs, 
we  begin  to  think  our  floating  home  for  these  next 
four  weeks  promises  well,  —  and  so  it  proves. 
Peninsular  and  Oriental  officers  are  a  very  steady, 
well-trained  set  of  men;  but  with  all  the  strict  dis- 


NAPLES  AND    THE  MEDITERRANEAN.  7 

cipllne  prevailing  on  board,  the  captain  seems  to  run 
the  ship  for  the  pleasure  of  the  passengers,  forming 
with  his  officers  a  self-appointed  committee  to  pro- 
vide endless  amusements.  The  Anglo-Indians  on 
board  also  join  with  real  English  zest  in  games  of 
quoits,  where  you  endeavor  to  throw  rings  of  rope 
into  buckets  placed  a  few  yards  apart  on  the  deck. 
It  requires  skill  and  patience  to  succeed ;  and  then, 
if  you  like,  there  is  the  game  of  "  Bull."  Who  that 
has  been  on  a  Peninsular  and  Oriental  steamer  ever 
forgets  the  excitement  of  a  *'  Bull "  tournament,  in 
which  half-a-dozen  or  more  players  strive  to  cover, 
in  turn,  one  of  ten  numbers  on  an  inclined  board ; 
no  easy  task  when  the  ship  is  rolling  and  tossing 
about.  A  double  canvas  stretches  over  our  heads, 
and  shades  the  sunny  side  of  the  deck.  Under 
these  awnings  something  is  always  going  on,  — 
pleasant  chats  in  quiet  corners,  music  on  the  piano 
in  the  companion-way  saloon,  people  lying  out  in 
Eastern  bamboo  chairs  reading,  the  staid  English 
matrons  quietly  enjoying  the  serious  business  of  a 
rubber  at  whist ;  —  so  the  days  pass.  The  weather 
cleared  up  directly  we  left  Naples;  and  since  then 
the  sea  has  been  very  smooth,  quite  like  the  lazy 
Hudson  in  summer.  The  first  morning  out  from 
Naples  we  passed  quite  close  to  Sicily,  and  steamed 
slowly  through  the  Straits  of  Messina.  Far  over 
the    quiet  waters    one   could    trace   the    little  white 


8  A    GIRVS    WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

dwellings  clinging  to  the  hillside,  which  we  were  in- 
formed was  the  busy  town  of  Messina.  It  does  not 
seem  from  this  distance  to  be  in  the  least  astir,  or 
doing    anything  else  but  dreaming  in  the  sunshine. 

"All  hushed  —  there  is  not  a  breeze  in  motion; 
The  shore  is  silent  as  the  ocean." 

Later  in  the  afternoon  we  could  trace  where  Etna 
could  be  seen,  had  it  not  been  covered  in  white 
fleecy  veils,  a  V Arabe.  On  a  nearer  view  the  faint 
blue  line  resting  so  lightly  on  the  horizon  would  have 
materialized  into  the  Island  of  Crete.  But  all  the 
best  field-glasses  on  board  failed  to  discover  for  us 
the  haven  of  Crete ;  and  although  the  south  wind 
blew  softly,  the  modern  mariners  risked  not  the 
tempestuous  breeze,  called  Euroclydon,  which  tossed 
the  Alexandrian  captain  sailing  into  Italy.  '*  Whose 
ship  was  caught,  and  could  not  bear  up  into  the 
wind,  so  we  let  her  drive."  This  is  St.  Paul's  nautical 
report  of  his  shipwreck.  The  ordinary  weather  along 
this  shore  is  frightful;  and  it  Is  always  a  chance  if 
a  sudden  tempest  may  not  come  tearing  down  up- 
on the  ship,  bringing  us  the  same  fate  as  Caesar's 
prisoner.  But  to-day  the  sun  and  sea  are  wooing 
Britomartis  (a  Cretan  nymph,  who  threw  herself 
into  the  waves  just  at  this  very  spot),  and  are  on 
their  very  best  behavior.  The  sly,  deceitful,  little 
ripples  look  very  harmless  in  their  calm  blue  depths, 


NAPLES  AND    THE   MEDITERRANEAN.  g 

as  if  they  never  intend  to  become  mountains  of  roll- 
ing billows.  Truly,  as  Holmes  says,  *'  the  sea  re- 
members nothing;  it  is  feline,  —  it  licks  your  feet,  its 
huge  flanks  purr  very  pleasantly  for  you,  but  it  will 
crack  your  bones  and  eat  you  for  all  that;  and  wipe 
the  crimson  foam  from  its  jaws  as  if  nothing  had 
happened." 

What  a  delightful  sensation  it  is  to  get  one's  bear- 
ing, to  saunter  up  and  down  the  wide  deck,  with 
nothing  more  imperative  to  do  than  to  bask  in  the 
warm  sunshine,  or  discover  a  congenial  spirit  among 
your  fellow  passengers,  with  whom  you  chat  pleas- 
antly for  an  hour,  to  pass  away  the  time.  The  ship's 
company  are  being  shaken  together,  and  becoming 
more  companionable  at  this  stage  of  the  voyage.  On 
board  are  Anglo-Indians  going  to  Calcutta,  mer- 
chants, servants  of  Her  Majesty,  civil  or  military, 
with  a  sprinkling  of  tourists  doing  the  trip  around 
the  world ;  but  they  (the  Anglo-Indians)  know 
what  they  are  talking  about,  and  have  rare  bits  of 
information  about  India  not  to  be  found  in  any  book. 
The  "  Chusan  "  is  a  very  properly-conducted  English 
ship;  but,  of  course,  we  have  every  shade  of  clergy- 
man on  board,  in  color  and  sect;  so,  this  morning, 
there  were  two  rival  church  services  going  on  at 
the  same  hour  in  different  parts  of  the  ship  ;  and  two 
more  Dissenters  are  Presbyterianizing  and  Wesley- 
anizing  their  forces  for  the  outdoing  of  the  Church 


10  A    GIRL'S    WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

of  England  to-night.  They  have  been  fearfully  dis- 
turbed by  the  ''  right  of  way,"  which  the  English 
Church  claims  on  all  Peninsular  and  Oriental  boats ; 
and,  especially,  they  have  now  great  cause  for  dis- 
content in  the  persecution  they  suffer  from  the  daily 
English  morning  service. 

The  more  I  see  of  the  ship's  people,  the  more  I 
like  them.  At  the  head  of  our  table  sits  a  com- 
missioned officer  from  Assam,  the  high  borderland 
of  the  Himalayas;  next,  the  Queen's  attorney- 
general,  of  Hong  Kong  ;  then,  a  tea  planter,  who 
has  lived  years  in  Ceylon,  been  a  resident  in  China, 
and  whose  present  occupation  is  unknown.  Our 
companions  at  table  are  frequently  quite  in  the 
dark  regarding  the  things  which  we  Americans  talk 
about.  "What  is  a  clam?"  asked  a  Scotchman, 
who  is  going  to  Ceylon.  "  Is  it  a  small  kind  of 
apple?"  This,  apropos  of  our  description  of  fried 
and  scalloped  clams,  brought  out  a  peal  of  laughter 
from  the  English,  who  are  not  supposed  to  be  easily 
moved  to  signs  of  surprise  or  amusement  in  public ; 
but  I  find  them  gay  and  good-humored,  and  appre- 
ciative of  a  good  story.  A  ship's  officer  told  the 
following  at  dinner  last  evening:  — 

"  As  a  rule,  all  engineers  on  steamers  are  Scotch- 
men ;  and  once  a  man  wagered  he  could  go  down  in 
the  engine  room,  and  call  out  *  Mac,'  and  some  one 
would    answer.     Then  he  went  to  the  door  of  the 


NAPLES  AND    THE  MEDITERRANEAN  \\ 

engine  room,  and  called  loudly,  '  Mac ! '  No  one 
replied,  until  after  a  pause  some  one  spoke  up, 
'  Mon,  which  of  the  five  Macs  do  you  mean?'" 

We  are  steaming  very  slowly,  only  twelve  miles  an 
hour;  and  after  three  impatient  days  we  sail  up  to 
Port  Said  and  the  entrance  to  the  s^reat  Canal. 


12  A    GI/^L'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA, 


CHAPTER  II. 

PORT  SAID  AND  THROUGH  THE  SUEZ   CANAL. 

Port  Said,  December  lo. 
"IT /"E  reached  Port  Said  yesterday  at  twelve 
*  '  o'clock,  in  a  pouring  rain ;  but  when  our 
big  anchor  was  let  down,  the  sun  came  out,  a  light 
breeze  tempered  the  mid-day  heat,  and  Port  Said, 
with  its  rich  red  soil  and  clumps  of  brilliant  palms, 
was  before  us,  making  a  splendid  contrast  to  the 
sea.  What  we  saw  was  a  low,  dirty  town,  with  the 
sea  running  quite  close  to  its  principal  street,  where 
the  sails  of  all  colors  and  nationalities  were  crowded 
close  to  the  habitations  of  the  children  of  the  soil. 
Little  boats  with  their  Arabian  owners  crowded 
around  the  ship,  for  the  chance  of  taking  us  on 
shore.  We  have  entered  quite  well  up  in  the  Canal. 
Near  us  are  many  ships ;  and  a  Turkish  man-of-war 
runs  up  her  crescent,  while  a  companion  ship,  the 
"  Shannon,"  is  undergoing  the  process  of  coaling, 
which  sounds  prosaic  enough,  but  is  most  interesting. 
Fancy  a  low  black  barge  close  up  to  the  ship's 
sides,  connected  with  it  by  black  planks,  over  which 
men  pass  up  and  down  like  dark  flashes,  the  coal- 


PORT  SAID   AND    THE  SUEZ   CANAL.  1 3 

dust  outrivalling  their  dusky  skins,  all  dressed  alike 
in  ghoulish  garments,  with  black  scarfs  floating  from 
their  heads.  I  never  saw  anything  more  impish  than 
these  swift  creatures  of  darkness  appearing  and  dis- 
appearing quickly  from  the  depths  of  the  "Shannon," 
carrying  black  baskets,  grimy  with  the  coal  from 
years  of  service. 

The  next  affair  was  landing.  B.  and  I  had  long 
ago  grown  tired  of  the  confinement  of  the  ship ; 
and  we  are  to  stay  here  six  hours  to  coal.  So 
we  are  rowed  across  the  little  bit  of  muddy  water 
to  Port  Said,  for  an  exorbitant  sum,  by  Arab 
boatmen  in  gay  and  fantastic  head-gear.  With  us 
was  a  young  German  officer  and  a  Church  of  Eng- 
land rector,  on  his  way  to  the  Church  college  at 
Agra.  Port  Said  is  a  picture  of  discomfort  and 
misery.  No  one  but  the  wild  Arabs  live  here  on  the 
borders  of  the  desert,  where  nothing  grows  that  I 
can  perceive  except  the  ever-present  palm-trees,  that 
do  their  best  to  adorn  the  queer  little  straggling 
town  that  is  striving  for  existence.  Beneath  our 
feet  are  many  inches  of  red  and  muddy  soil,  but  the 
streets  are  novel  and  picturesque.  We  are  in  Africa 
indeed,  —  an  Africa  of  veiled  women,  each  wearing 
a  great  brass  tube  over  her  forehead  just  between 
the  eyes,  the  better  to  conceal  her  features,  and 
clad  in  sombre  drapery  of  black  or  dark  blue  over 
head,  arms,  and  the  entire  figure,  the  better  to  follow 


14  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

out  Mahomet's  command  that  the  women  should  be 
kept  in  seclusion.  A  quarter  of  the  town  was  oc- 
cupied by  the  market-women,  who  squatted  along 
the  roadside,  among  dirty  rugs  and  heaps  of  green 
vegetables,  and  sold  chicory,  oranges,  and  fish. 

Some  one  proposed  a  donkey  ride,  and  it  seemed 
a  most  attractive  suggestion.  So  we  communicated 
our  intentions  to  the  nearest  donkey-boy,  and  soon 
had  the  whole  town  running  after  us  with  their 
donkeys,  screaming  in  broken  English  the  merits  of 
their  beasts.  Donkeys  seemed  to  blow  from  every 
quarter  of  the  heavens  at  once.  It  was  demoral- 
izing. Each  man  was  as  keen  and  sordid  about  the 
suitable  compensation  for  a  donkey  ride  as  in  the 
most  civilized  community.  The  Arabian  donkey- 
men  are  tall,  with  beautiful  erect  carriage,  shapely 
bare  arms  and  legs,  with  some  sort  of  coarse  white 
drapery  worn  about  their  bodies,  covering  them 
from  shoulder  to  knee  in  folds  which  would  delight 
a  sculptor.  The  general  appearance  of  the  donkeys 
was  forlorn,  the  saddles  shabby  beyond  description, 
although  they  looked  as  if  in  their  best  days  they 
had  been  very  pretentious  with  gold  embroidery 
and  silver  tassels.  The  donkeys  know  their  owners' 
voices  as  well  as  possible,  and  answer  to  every  cry 
and  kick  of  encouragement  from  their  drivers  as  they 
scamper  along.  Each  donkey  had  its  name:  mine 
was    Mrs.    Langtry,   B.'s   Parnell,   and   another   was 


PORT  SAID  AND    THE  SUEZ   CANAL.  15 

"  What  a  pair  of  lovely  black  eyes."  They  evidently 
have  caught  this  latter  expression  from  having  heard 
it  so  often  applied  to  themselves.  Imagine  our 
donkeys  galloping  along,  and  the  Arabs  running 
beside  them,  out  on  the  ocean  of  sand.  It  was  a 
desolate  country  we  passed  through,  —  a  scattered 
Arab  dwelling  here  and  there,  or  a  mosque  farther 
on;  and  the  most  populous  place  seemed  to  be  the 
Arab  burying-ground,  where  the  poor  wTetched  na- 
tives are  brought  in  great  numbers  from  their  mala- 
rious, fever-stricken  Port  Said.  No  green  trees  or 
bushes  grow  in  the  distant  sandy  miles  before  us ;  only 
an  immense  solitude,  a  cobalt  sky,  and  the  yellow 
desert  sand.  The  Arabs  have  a  most  acute  sense  of 
humor,  and  apply  the  name  of  "  Mr.  Masher"  to  our 
young  rector,  who  is  vastly  amused.  '*  Go  on,  Mrs. 
Langtry,"  shrieks  the  Arab,  when  her  namesake 
attempts  to  lag  or  slacken  the  pace.  ''  Don't  let 
Mr.  Parnell  get  ahead."  "  Hi,  hi,  walk  along,  La- 
bouchere,"  is  addressed  to  a  stout  little  donkey  be- 
tween blows  from  the  driver's  stick.  In  vain  did  I 
feel  my  dignity  was  fast  disappearing  with  every  inch 
of  the  road ;  in  vain  was  I  warned  by  streaming  hair 
and  floating  bits  of  apparel.  It  was  all  too  perfectly 
enchanting  to  care  for  appearances,  and  I  could  have 
galloped  on  forever.  Every  one  was  sorry  when  it 
came  time  to  return;  but  it  consoled  us  a  little  to 
partake   of  Turkish   coffee  before  leaving,   and    lay 


1 6  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA, 

in  a  stock  of  fans  for  the  Red  Sea.  The  ship  is 
hauHng  up  anchor,  and  dinner  is  served,  so  I  will 
put  up  the  journal  for  to-day,  and  spend  the  even- 
ing looking  out  upon  the  Canal.  Good  night,  Port 
Said. 

December  12. 

Port  Said  owes  its  name  to  an  Egyptian  Pasha, 
and  its  existence  to  the  Suez  Canal;  its  port  forming 
the  entrance  to  the  Canal  from  the  Mediterranean  Sea. 
There  is  a  decided  bustle  and  air  of  activity  in  the 
place,  from  the  noise  of  Arabs  bringing  coal  to  the 
ships,  and  the  daily  departure  of  tourists  to  the  differ- 
ent ports  of  the  Holy  Land,  Syria,  and  the  East. 

De  Lesseps  has  said  that  during  his  stay  in  Egypt, 
as  consul  for  the  French  government,  he  conceived 
the  idea  of  bringing  the  two  hundred  millions  of 
Europeans  and  the  seven  hundred  millions  of  Asi- 
atics in  closer  relationship,  by  the  erection  of  a  sea 
canal  across  the  Isthmus  of  Suez.  This  was  in  the 
year  1856;  and  until  its  completion  in  1869,  the  great 
French  engineer  encountered  difficulties,  financial 
and  political,  which  would  have  deterred  the  most 
optimistic  Englishman.  "  Notre  entreprise  n'a  que 
deux  ennemis,  le  sable  et  I'espace,"  said  an  enthusi- 
astic Frenchman  ;  but  these  were  mute  and  tractable 
enemies,  mere  nothings  to  the  hostile  forces  to  be 
overcome, — the  opposition  of  the  Ottoman  Porte 
and   England's  "  sealed  coffers."     But  the  magnetic 


PORT  SAID   AND    THE   SUEZ   CANAL.  IJ 

personality  of  De  Lesseps  persuaded  and  fascinated 
every  one  connected  with  the  affair,  from  the  French 
bankers  to  the  Arabian  sheiks.  The  advantage  to 
England  from  the  Canal,  which  was  at  first  so  bitterly 
discouraged  by  her  statesmen,  is  now  simply  inesti- 
mable. The  increase  of  British  commerce  with  the 
East  is  about  forty  millions  sterling.  In  avoiding 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  and  coming  through  by 
the  Suez  Canal,  the  steamships  save  a  distance  of 
four  thousand,  four  hundred  and  forty-five  miles, 
going  from  London  to  Bombay;  and  indeed  the 
business  of  the  whole  world  has  been  changed. 

An  English  nobleman,  invited  by  the  Khedive  to 
witness  the  opening  of  this  great  engineering  achieve- 
ment, describes  what  must  have  been  as  startling  a 
scene  as  any  ever  played  by  her  children  in  Egypt, 
the  Mother  of  the  World.  "We  then  went  to  the 
religious  ceremony  of  the  benediction  of  the  work. 
There  was  a  large  stand,  in  front  of  which  sat  the 
Khedive,  the  Empress  of  the  French,  the  Emperor  of 
Austria,  and  a  dozen  small  royalties ;  and  behind  the 
Empress,  stood  —  guess  who?  —  Abdul  Kader,  in  his 
burnouse,  covered  with  decorations  —  a  most  striking 
figure.  Opposite  the  stand  were  two  others,  one  with 
a  Moslem  pulpit  turned  toward  Mecca,  and  the  other 
with  a  Catholic  altar.  The  Moslem  began  the  prayers, 
every  one  remaining  covered  ;  and  when  he  had  done, 
there  was  a  Catholic  service  to  bare  heads." 


1 8  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

We  leave  Port  Said  during  dinner,  and  at  once 
enter  the  Canal.  A  striking  moment  it  was  —  to 
my  mind,  the  grandest  of  the  journey.  During  the 
evening  we  go  on  deck,  and  look  out  on  the  electric 
light,  which  is  placed  in  our  bow,  and  can  be  seen 
for  miles.  An  extra  pilot  has  also  been  taken  on 
board,  and  a  suitable  rudder ;  all  three  will  be  left  at 
Suez.  A  sand  storm  approaches  later,  and  a  high 
wind  has  arisen.  The  captain  has  ordered  the  ship 
tied  up.  Natives  go  ashore  and  fasten  the  "  Chusan  "  to 
one  of  the  big  ship  posts  that  line  the  Canal  for  this 
purpose ;  and  sand,  thick  like  a  fog,  is  about  us,  fill- 
ing our  eyes  and  every  nook  of  the  steamer  with  the 
little  glinting  particles.  We  pass  the  evening  with 
games,  singing,  and  private  theatricals,  in  which 
every  one  contributes,  and  wind  up  with  a  Swedish 
dance  something  like  our  Virginia  Reel.  From  my 
cabin  window,  in  the  bright  moonlight,  I  can  distin- 
guish files  of  rats  crossing  and  re-crossing  the  huge 
ropes  which  fasten  our  ship  to  the  shore,  drawn 
clearly  against  the  shaft  of  electric  light  shining  from 
the  bows,  as  the  ancient  rats  embroidered  Proser- 
pine's veil. 

Up  with  the  anchor,  and  before  seven  o'clock 
next  morning  we  are  off  once  more.  From  the 
deck  we  see  Lake  Menzalah  on  both  sides,  then 
through  the  narrow  part,  often  not  more  than 
seventy-five  feet  wide.     The  whole   day  we  traverse 


PORT  SAID   AND    THE   SUEZ   CANAL.  1 9 

the  solemn,  quiet  desert.  I  think  every  one  who 
has  made  the  journey  will  agree  with  me  that  the 
great  ship  moving  through  the  silent  desert  is  the 
grandest  experience  one  has  ever  had.  The  *'  Chu- 
san  "  makes  six  miles  an  hour  through  the  Canal  ;  and 
on  the  sandy  banks  we  can  see  the  moving  figures  of 
pitiful  half-clad  Arabs,  who  keep  up  well  with  the  ship, 
and  clap  their  bony  hands,  crying  "  backsheesh,"  keep- 
ing step  in  time  with  a  strange,  unearthly  hum.  The 
English  pennies  thrown  from  the  deck  are  followed 
with  eagle  eyes,  and  seized  before  they  reach  the 
sand.  How  these  barbarians  exist  on  the  edge  of 
the  desert,  —  not  a  sign  of  a  human  dwelling  or 
a  green  thing  for  miles,  nothing  but  uninterrupted 
waste  of  sand,  —  no  one  could  tell  us. 

The  sand  storm  has  been  disastrous  along  the 
route.  A  Russian  man-of-war,  and  still  another 
Peninsular  and  Oriental  boat,  are  tied  up  or 
aground  in  the  sand,  blown  out  of  the  narrow 
channel.  As  we  go  on,  a  boat  from  Ismailia 
comes  to  take  off  passengers  for  Cairo,  who 
fling  back  many  a  good-by  to  those  left  stand- 
ing by  the  ship's  railing,  watching  the  tug  steam 
away  and  finally  disappear.  The  town  is  supplied 
with  fresh  water  by  a  canal  from  Cairo,  and  looks 
very  pretty  from  this  distance,  with  its  green  clumps 
of  palm-trees  and  shrubbery  —  a  wilderness  made  to 
blossom  for  the  pleasure  of  the  Khedive.     The  little 


20  A    GIKVS  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

Bitter  Lakes  —  so  called  from  a  certain  alkali  con- 
tained in  the  waters  —  are  now  widening  before  us. 
It  was  here  that  the  waters  of  the  Red  Sea  and  the 
Mediterranean  met  ;  and  some  one  has  remarked 
that  **  their  respective  fishes  must  have  been  rather 
astonished  to  make  acquaintance."  The  waters  of 
the  Mediterranean  are  Salter  than  the  Atlantic,  and 
the  Red  Sea  Salter  still,  due  I  believe  to  the  great 
evaporation  which  takes  place  under  a  tropical  sun, 
no  fresh  water  supplying  its  place.  In  olden  times 
the  Red  Sea  extended  to  the  Bitter  Lakes;  and  it 
was  there  the  Israelites  crossed  it.  The  northern 
portion  of  this  sea  is  now  called  the  Gulf  of  Suez. 
We  are  approaching  Mecca  ;  not  far  away  lies 
Judea,  and  on  the  other  hand  is  the  land  of  the 
w^orship  of  Isis  and  Osiris.  The  Red  Sea  is  a  great 
contradiction  in  color.  No  one  has  explained  its 
name,  unless  '*  Red  "  means  "fiery;  "  although  many 
historians  agree  that  it  takes  its  name  from  the  shores 
which  border  the  desert,  and  are  reddish  in  color. 
The  scenery  here  is  most  peculiar  —  bare  hills,  with- 
out a  single  tree  or  trace  of  vegetation  to  be  seen  in 
any  direction.  Mt.  Sinai  is  before  us  :  we  see  its 
summit  very  clearly,  although  the  captain  says  it  is 
two  miles  from  the  shore.  It  is  not  the  highest  peak 
of  the  mountain  range  by  any  means,  but  one  of  a 
group  of  three,  and  lower  than  its  companion.  Mount 
St.  Catherine.     A  cloud  is  resting  there  very  softly, 


PORT  SAID   AND    THE   SUEZ   CANAL.  21 

and  almost  hides  its  face,  as  in  ancient  times  there 
appeared  over  the  Mount  a  thick  cloud  because  of 
the  Presence  there.  We  cannot  see  the  plain  where 
the  children  of  Israel  were  encamped,  but  the  for- 
mation of  the  country  is  exactly  that  described  in 
Scripture,  especially  where  the  children  of  Israel 
crossed  the  Red  Sea.  You  can  see  there  was  only 
one  thing  to  do  —  mountains  in  the  south  hemmed 
them  in,  on  the  north  the  Egyptian  army  was 
sweeping  down  in  great  numbers,  forcing  them  to 
pass  through  the  sea  as  a  "  last  resort."  On  the 
borders  of  the  desert  were  some  great  camels,  lying 
down  with  their  huge  burdens,  resting  from  the  long 
journey.  They  looked  the  perfect  "  ships  of  the 
desert,"   as   they   are   so   often   called. 

They  tell  us  this  is  quite  exceptional  weather 
for  this  portion  of  the  journey ;  our  cabin  ther- 
mometers register  only  70°,  and  on  deck  it  is 
even  less,  only  65°  in  the  shade.  This  sea  is 
supposed  by  travellers  to  be  ''  the  hottest  place 
in  the  world  ;  the  wind  is  generally  like  a  sirocco, 
and  the  water  becomes  so  heated  that  it  often  seri- 
ously interferes  with  the  condensation  of  steam." 
During  the  hot  season,  the  heat  becomes  so  in- 
tense that  here  on  the  ''  Chusan  "  six  persons  have 
often  died  in  one  morning  from  sunstroke  or  apo- 
plexy. The  captain  said  expressively  this  morning 
that  men  sometimes  died  on  the  tables  which  were 


22  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

afterwards  set  for  breakfast.  Often  all  the  stokers 
and  engineers  are  down,  and  there  remains  no  one  to 
keep  up  the  fires.  Certainly  the  bakers  and  stokers 
have  the  hardest  time.  Already  the  officers  are  be- 
ginning to  appear  in  white  duck  trousers  and  very 
mgligi  attire;  while  the  Anglo-Indians,  who  have 
realized  the  ideal  of  comfort,  are  wearing  large  Terai 
hats,  white  silk  shirts,  and  show  a  decided  disHke  for 
any  violent  exercise. 

On  Sunday  morning  the  service  was  conducted 
on  deck  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  H.  and  another.  The 
officers  and  stewards  and  the  second  cabin  pas- 
sengers came  up  to  attend  it.  There  are  sixteen 
missionaries  in  the  second  cabin  besides  the  clergy 
on  board,  one  of  whom  goes  out  to  India  as  prin- 
cipal of  a  native  high-caste  college  at  Agra,  with 
four  hundred  students.  All  over  the  ship  a  lively 
conversation  is  kept  up  on  the  subject  of  missions 
—  a  subject  quite  strange  to  the  usual  talk  on 
steamers,  but  aroused  by  the  presence  on  board  of 
so  many  zealots,  who  seem  to  call  out  special  antag- 
onism from  the  Anglo-Indians  every  time  their  stiff 
white  collars  and  broad-brimmed  hats  appear  in  view. 
The  general  opinion  of  residents  near  the  mission 
fields  seems  to  be  that  the  native  is  not  easily  con- 
verted to  Christian  ideas,  but  that  the  missionaries 
undoubtedly  form  a  great  civilizing  power  in  the 
East.     The  Hindu  religion  admits  that  Christianity  is 


FORT  SAID  AND    THE  SUEZ   CANAL.  23 

all  very  good  ;  and  they  adopt  it  along  with  their  own, 
arguing  that  the  principle  of  religion  remains  the 
same,  and  the  outward  forms  do  not  matter.  A 
Hindu  believes  all  proceeds  from  the  Almighty,  and 
all  is  in  him.  They  may  worship  their  ancestors,  or 
set  up  a  limb  of  a  tree  and  perform  their  devotions 
before  it.  Only  yesterday  I  heard  a  story  of  a  man  in 
Southern  India  w^ho  was  seen  to  bow  down  to  the 
tomb  of  an  English  general  and  make  an  offering  of 
brandy  and  soda,  considered  by  the  observing  native 
the  most  appropriate  tribute  to  the  Englishman's 
well-known  taste. 


24  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 


CHAPTER   III. 

ON  THE  INDIAN   OCEAN. 

Aden,  December  17. 
"PEARLY  Tuesday  morning  we  passed  Perim,  the 
-* — '  rocky  island  which  **  guards  the  gates  of  the 
Red  Sea,"  and  during  the  day  had  many  ghmpses 
of  the  bare  profiles  of  uninhabited  islands,  sharp 
and  half  sunken,  appearing  to  float  on  the  water 
like  stony  icicles,  making  navigation  both  danger- 
ous and  difficult;  and  in  the  old  days  there  were 
more  wrecks  in  coming  here  than  in  any  other 
part  of  the  world.  Threading  our  way  through  the 
pointed  rocks  of  this  little  archipelago,  we  sighted 
the  island  of  Mocha  on  our  left,  —  an  uninhabited 
desert:  no  living  soul  was  to  be  seen,  no  trace  of 
life  or  vegetation ;  even  the  Arabian  growers  of  the 
famous  coffee  had  abandoned  their  torrid  little 
island  to  its  primitive  desolation.  It  was  the 
captain's  trained  seaman's  eye  which  first  discov- 
ered Aden,  far  away  on  the  horizon,  and  the  Eng- 
lish rector,  the  queen's  attorney,  B.  and  I,  and 
others,  who  were  going  to   India  for  the  first  time. 


ON  THE  INDIAN  OCEAN.  2$ 

crowded  about  him  in  an  excited  group,  straining 
our  eyes  and  levelling  our  glasses  at  that  barren 
point  of  rock  and  sand  lifted  in  such  fantastic  out- 
lines above  the  Arabian  Sea.  In  a  few  moments 
the  bleak  and  rugged  peaks  shone  forth  one  after 
the  other  more  distinctly,  bathed  in  a  mellow  light, 
which  softened  the  outlines  and  did  its  best  for 
Aden  to  make  a  good  impression.  The  masts  of 
many  vessels  are  reflected  in  the  clear  blue  waters 
of  the  harbor.  A  Russian  corvette,  painted  white 
and  gold,  having  on  board  the  Czarowitch,  is  an- 
chored near  us,  attended  by  a  formidable  fleet  of 
boats,  carrying  guns  of  terrible  calibre.  An  Eng- 
lishman expresses  the  hope  that  this  scheme  of 
educational  travel  will  serve  to  broaden  the  mind 
and  liberalize  the  ideas  of  the  future  father  of  his 
people. 

The  sea  is  now  swarming  with  a  floating  popu- 
lation of  queer  blacks  and  Mussulmans  in  boats, 
who  soon  take  possession  of  the  contents  of  our 
purses.  The  Arabs  are  selling  curiously  braided  bas- 
kets, with  secret  compartments;  and  the  Jews  offer 
us  ostrich  boas  of  natural  feathers,  at  an  exorbitant 
price.  What  a  combination  of  shrewdness,  craft, 
and  mercantile  cunning  is  an  Arabian  Jew !  A 
crowd  of  little  Somalese  boys,  with  nothing  on  to 
prevent  their  free  movements,  came  off  from  the 
land    in    canoes    and    row-boats.     They   single    out 


26  A    GULL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

the  tourists  on  the  deck  at  a  glance,  and  half-a- 
dozen  or  more  call  to  us  in  persuasive  accents, 
"  Give  us  a  dive,  —  yes,  yes,  yes,  —  give  me  a  dive," 
their  teeth  gleaming  clear  as  stars  in  a  black  night. 
For  a  two-anna  bit  the  little  fellows  would  dive 
from  their  dug  out  canoes,  follow  the  flight  of  the 
coin  through  the  water,  and  appear  with  it  between 
their  white  teeth,  shaking  their  wet,  shaggy  locks 
like  water-dogs,  and  looking  over  the  waves  for 
their  canoe.  Now  the  greatest  feat  was  to  get  into 
the  canoe  once  more  without  upsetting  it  com- 
pletely. Swimming  with  one  hand  on  the  boat,  the 
little  fellow  would  watch  for  a  friendly  wave,  throw 
one  foot  quickly  over,  and  at  once  begin  to  bale 
out  the  water  with  his  hands  and  kick  it  out  with 
both  feet.  The  little  black  boys  are  the  most  won- 
derful swimmers  and  divers  in  the  world,  almost 
as  much  creatures  of  the  sea  as  of  the  land.  We 
are  rowed  ashore  in  big  boats  by  natives,  some 
with  only  about  two  yards  of  cloth  and  an  amber 
necklace  for  clothes. 

On  the  land  the  sun  beats  down,  and  the  air 
seems  to  vibrate  visibly  with  heat.  Not  a  tree  or 
shrub  or  a  bit  of  grass  has  the  courage  to  peer 
through  the  hot  sand,  to  die  in  this  withering  at- 
mosphere. I  bought  a  rather  good  photograph 
of  the  many  different  nationalities  which  live  in 
Aden,    who    are    mostly   recruited    from   the   oppo- 


ON  THE  INDIAN  OCEAN.  2/ 

site   shore   of  Africa.     Nubians   and  Arabians   form 
the  only  people  fitted  by  nature  to  exist  and  thrive 
on    these   volcanic    rocks.     In   vain    are   we  warned 
of  the   certain  and   disastrous  effect   of  the  sun   on 
venturesome   sightseers    in   Aden.     One    must   pass 
days   at  sea  to  understand   the    longing  to  set  foot 
on  terra  firma  once  more.     Even  barren  Aden  seems 
in   a  way  a   paradise,   and  we   can't  waste  a  minute 
of  precious    time ;    so    hail    an    inexpressibly    queer 
vehicle,  well   covered   over  the    top    and   sides  with 
white  muslin   to   divert  the   sun's    rays,  and  motion 
the    grinning    native    to    follow    up    the    one    street 
of  the  town, — a  semicircle    of  opium    bazaars  and 
shabby  shops,  with  natives  smoking   long  pipes   at 
the   doorways,   while   inside    is   displayed    a   forlorn 
collection  of  Arabian  ostrich  eggs,  uncurled  plumes, 
and  badly-cured  Ibex  horns,  —  the  specialties  of  the 
town,  —  all  alike  dingy  and  dirty  with  the  fumes  of 
the  coarse  tobacco. 

We  come  suddenly  on  the  camel  market,  where 
camels  are  drawing  loads,  harnessed  to  carts,  and 
carrying  immense  burdens  on  their  backs;  and 
B.  and  I,  who  are  always  ready  to  enjoy  any 
new  and  exciting  amusement,  are  seized  with  an 
intense  desire  to  ride  a  camel.  Mr.  L.  consented 
to  bargain  with  a  tall  Arabian  in  many-colored  rai- 
ment, the  owner  of  a  camel  which  had  never  before 
been  called  on  to  grunt  under  a  greater  fardel  than 


28  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

two  packs  of  grain.  Once  secured,  the  beast  was 
made  to  recline,  and  Mr.  L.  mounted  first.  I  must 
confess  that  the  sight  of  the  venerable  man,  his 
white  hair  floating  in  the  wind,  clinging  tightly  to 
the  camel  as  the  beast  commenced  the  operation 
of  getting  up,  was  a  most  ridiculous  spectacle.  The 
camel  seemed  to  have  several  knees  before  the  ordi- 
nary ones  were  reached,  and  kept  going  up,  until  we 
thought  he  would  keep  on  indefinitely.  From  the 
shout  that  went  up  from  the  good-natured  crowd 
gathered  around  us,  I  knew  that  this  must  be  a 
most  unusual  and  laughable  spectacle,  and  I  felt 
many  misgivings  of  conscience  that  I  should  have 
been  the  cause  of  putting  my  good-natured  com- 
panion to  open  shame.  We  start  off,  and  the  camel 
makes  a  simpering  attempt  at  trotting,  which  we  man- 
age very  well,  and  the  entire  population  follow  after 
us  and  urge  the  beast  along.  It  is  a  motley  crowd, 
with  bare  legs,  but  draped  in  bright  shawls  thrown 
over  the  shoulders,  and  nothing  else,  —  a  compro- 
mise between  a  dress  and  no  dress  at  all.  Some 
wore  curious  silver  receptacles  like  snufif-boxes,  fas- 
tened on  the  arm  by  silver  chains,  which  serve  them 
for  purses,  as  their  clothes  —  or  rather  the  absence 
of  clothes  —  admits  of  no  pockets  for  small  change. 
Running  along  in  this  most  absurd  procession  are 
many  little  native  black  boys,  —  the  je7inesse  cbeiie 
of  Aden,  —  with  their  Httle  curly  heads  on  one  side. 


ON   THE   INDIAN  OCEAN.  29 

They  look  up  so  beseechingly  at  us,  making  a  kind 
of  vicon,  at  the  same  time  rubbing  their  little  bare 
chests  to  make  us  believe  they  are  hungry,  smiling 
all  the  while,  knowing  that  it  is  for  their  pictur- 
esqueness  only  that  you  will  be  tempted  to  part 
with  your  silver.  Some  of  our  own  ship's  people 
had  now  joined  the  throng,  and  were  gesticulating 
and  laughing  loudly;  and  a  little  later  all  witness 
the  dismounting  process.  First,  the  beast  gets  down 
in  front,  but  manages  to  keep  up  on  his  hind  quar- 
ters; and  this  particular  one  objected  in  horrible 
sounds  to  getting  down  any  lower,  and  we  were 
thrown  forward  almost  on  our  faces,  when  a  few 
pricks  and  sticks  from  his  owner  persuaded  the 
camel  to  reason.  It  was  the  oddest  bit  of  travel- 
ling yet,  and  I  wish  I  could  make  you  all  see  the 
scene  as  I  saw  it.  I  could  not  help  thinking  how 
serviceable  the  faces  of  these  barren  and  very  prom- 
inent rocks  would  be  to  Pears'  Soap  or  Sapolio. 
The  English  would  make  a  pretty  penny  by  it; 
some  one  should  make  the  suggestion  to  Lord 
Salisbury. 

We  left  Aden  at  sunset  to-night.  No  words  can 
describe  the  beauty  of  the  scene  from  the  bridge 
of  the  "  Chusan,"  looking  toward  the  setting  sun. 
From  all  the  boats  the  tired  Mussulmans  were  wash- 
ing in  buckets  of  water,  or  having  finished  this 
important  religious  ceremony,  were  sometimes  pros- 


30  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

trate  in  the  direction  of  Mecca,  sometimes  sil- 
houetted in  bronze  against  a  pale  orange  sky.  It 
was  indescribably  picturesque ;  and  the  scene  was 
heightened  by  a  small  island  of  volcanic  rocks 
in  the  foreground,  ragged,  ice-like  peaks,  outlined 
in  black,  and  beyond,  the  lemon-colored  horizon, 
and  the  dark  indigo  waters  encircling  the  island. 
Soon  the  sunset  deepens  in  orange  and  reds,  the 
moon  hangs  a  pendent  silver  crescent  in  the  sky, 
and  the  stars  come  out 

Indian  Ocean. 
Since  we  left  Aden  we  have  had  a  marvellously 
calm  sea,  that  mirrors  our  masts  in  its  glassy-like 
surface.  No  one  can  realize  what  it  is  to  go  on 
a  voyage  in  these  latitudes,  unless  you  are  here 
on  the  spot.  Every  day  on  the  Arabian  Sea  has 
passed  like  a  dream  —  a  dream  of  the  Castle  of  In- 
dolence :  even  the  captain  seems  to  run  the  ship  as  if 
by  magic  ;  no  discipline  that  we  can  see,  no  bustling 
orders,  or  fog-blasts,  or  tempests  to  trouble.  Indeed, 
we  never  think  of  our  ship-life  as  strange  or  un- 
natural :  it  is  like  our  earth-life ;  and  perhaps  we  shall 
not  remember  how  to  live  on  land  again.  The  air 
seems  to  be  growing  hotter  and  hotter;  we  appear 
to  be  sailing  straight  away  into  tropic  heat  as  we  near 
the  equatorial  line.  Little  children  play  about  the 
deck  in  old-fashioned,  low-necked,  and  short-sleeved 
gowns ;    and   the    bare-footed    ayah   faithfully    paces 


ON   THE   INDIAN  OCEAN  3 1 

up  and  down,  crooning  softly  Hindu  lullabies  to  the 
little  white  baby,  who  has  not  even  a  fleecy  shawl 
about  its  bare  arms.  We  appear  most  comfortably 
in  shirt  waists,  even  to  the  second  and  third  gen- 
erations of  grandmothers  —  everybody  has  adopted 
a  silk  blouse.  During  the  day  and  night  the  port- 
holes are  always  open ;  and  the  steward  places  a 
square  canvas  wind-sail  at  your  cabin  port  to  catch 
any  stray  breezes  at  night. 

I  have  retired  under  the  punkah,  which  is  being 
pulled  in  breezy  sweeps  by  the  handsome  young 
Indian,  who  has  inherited  a  tireless  energy  in  pull- 
ing at  a  rope  for  hours.  Since  we  left  Port  Said 
the  punkahs  have  been  going  constantly  in  the 
saloon,  where  we  betake  ourselves  often,  only 
too  thankful  for  an  artificial  breeze  to  aid  us 
in  writing  up  our  correspondence  and  finishing 
our  home-letters  for  the  English  mail-steamer  at 
Ceylon.  The  tiffin  has  just  ended ;  and  from  a 
long  list  of  such  unknown  delicacies  as  '*  bubble 
and  squeak,"  ''prawn  curry,"  and  "jugged  hare," 
we  have  declined  everything  provided  by  the 
Peninsular  and  Oriental  company,  except  sardines 
and  bread  and  butter,  ending  with  oranges  and 
a  bottle  of  champagne,  ordered  to  quell  a  rebel- 
lion of  the  internal  elements,  which  is  making 
our  lives  plainly  miserable,  since  to-day  we  are 
rolling   a   trifle    in    the   blue   waves   of    the    Indian 


32  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

Ocean.  The  only  news  I  can  give  you  is  that  of 
waves,  sky,  and  the  white  foaming  track  the  ship  is 
ploughing  up  through  the  latitudes  and  longitudes, 
the  zones  and  meridians,  of  the  greatest  part  of  this 
earth's  surface,  which  we  call  sea.  We  make,  with 
a  good  wind  to  help  on,  about  three  hundred  and 
twenty  miles  from  twelve  o'clock  noon  of  one  day 
to  the  same  eight  bells  the  next  day.  The  nights 
are  calm  beyond  words  ;  the  moonhght  bright  as 
day  ;  and  in  the  sky  appear  many  unknown  stars 
with  strange  and  unfamiliar  effects  —  even  the 
Great  Bear  is  turned  upside  down,  making  the 
heavens  look  strange  and  unnatural.  The  Indian 
Ocean  is  lit  by  a  phosphorescent  light,  an  intense 
emerald  green  ;  and  the  waters  are  clear,  reflecting 
all  the  stars.  I  never  knew  anything  more  weird 
and  dreamy  than  to  stand  in  the  bows  and  look  out 
in  the  misty  star-tangled  air,  followed  by  the  serpent- 
like trail  of  the  phosphorescent  light.  On  her  last 
trip,  the  ship  just  here  speared  a  shark,  twenty-six 
feet  long,  with  her  bow  ;  and  so  firmly  was  the  fish 
fastened  in  front,  that  the  ship  was  stopped  to  dis- 
lodge it.  Every  night  during  dinner  the  quar- 
termaster and  the  Lascar  sailors  clear  the  deck 
of  everything  movable,  and  cover  every  nook  and 
corner  with  gay  bunting  and  bright  flags  ;  so  we  find 
the  ship  changed  as  if  by  magic  into  an  impro- 
vised ball-room.    The  last  evening,  the  captain  invites 


ON   THE  INDIAN  OCEAN.  33 

US  formally  to  a  ball.  On  shipboard,  Saturday,  as 
a  rule,  is  baggage  day,  when  the  passengers  are 
allowed  to  replenish  their  wardrobe  from  the  boxes 
in  the  hold  ;  but  for  this  occasion  the  officers  are 
ordered  to  haul  up  the  luggage,  to  be  ransacked  for 
party  finery.  During  the  evening  the  dancing  goes 
on  merrily,  and  we  enjoy  numerous  lemon  squashs, 
proved  to  consist  of  lime-juice  and  soda-water  —  the 
Eastern  substitute  for  lemonade.  Songs,  toasts,  and 
an  elaborate  supper  follow,  for  the  prospect  of  end- 
ing our  long  voyage  to-morrow  has  inspired  everyone 
with  an  unusual  vivacity ;  and  not  until  the  morning 
hours  did  any  of  the  dancers  seek  their  repose  in 
the  cabins,  or  on  the  deck  mattresses,  provided  for 
the  occupants  of  the  heated  cabins,  where  sleep  is 
impossible  in  the  stifling  atmosphere.  B.  and  I 
went  down  among  the  last,  with  slow  and  reluctant 
steps,  feeling  that  this  was  the  last  parting  from 
friends,  who  three  weeks  ago  were  strangers,  but  of 
whom  we  shall  always  keep  a  bright  memory. 


34  ^   GIRVS  WINTER  IN  INDIA, 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  ISLAND  OF  CEYLON. 

Colombo,  December  24. 
T  T  was  a  warm,  delicious  night.  For  the  last  few 
-*-  hours  every  one  had  been  in  a  frenzy  of  excite- 
ment, and  our  impatience  to  see  land  became  un- 
controllable. Suddenly  a  bright  light  flashed  and 
reflected  itself  in  the  sea,  and  breezes  from  cocoa- 
nut  and  palm-trees  floated  fresh  from  the  shore. 
"  Colombo,"  shouted  a  sailor  on  the  forward  watch  ; 
"  Colombo,"  echoed  the  captain  from  the  bridge ; 
*'  Colombo,"  repeated  the  passengers  each  to  the 
other,  with  various  shades  of  emotion ;  and  at  that 
word  my  own  fancy  created  a  whole  city  full  of 
mystery  and  wonders.  We  ascended  the  hurricane 
deck,  crowded  the  ship's  bows,  and  leaned  far  over 
the  railing,  peering  into  the  quiet  night  and  breath- 
ing the  cinnamon-scented  air  of  Colombo,  the  capital 
of  Ceylon.  Scarcely  a  word  was  spoken ;  every 
face  expressed  a  different  emotion,  but  each  was 
visibly  changed.  The  voyage  was  ended.  Some- 
thing seemed  reversed  in  our  life's  machinery.     We 


THE   ISLAND   OF  CEYLON,  35 

had  expected  it  to  end,  but  had  banished  the  idea 
to  a  dim  future,  as  we  do  the  Day  of  Wrath ;    and 
like  that  day,  it  came  upon   us   as  *'  a  thief  in  the 
night,"   robbing   the   bread-winners  of  India  of  the 
needed  rest  before  the  battle  for  existence  so  soon 
to  begin,  and  bringing  the  fledghngs  of  future  engi- 
neers   abreast    of    their    problems,    and    the    boyish 
candidates  for  the  forestry  department  face  to  face 
with    jungles    and    giant   trees    in    Burmah.     Every- 
thing was  indeed  ended  for  the  red-haired  Peninsular 
and  Oriental  officer,  whose  hopes  were  being  calmly 
annihilated  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  ship  by  a  coquet- 
tish English  girl,  whose  constant  companionship  on 
this  voyage  had  induced  a  wish  for  the  longer  one 
through   life.     In  the   least  frequented  parts   of  the 
ship,  other   sad  partings  were  taking    place,    for  we 
were  all  more  or  less  sentimentally  affected  by  the 
dreamy   moonlit   evenings.      Even   the   jolly   young 
rector  has  declared  himself  "  half  a  friend  and  all  a 
lover"  to  his    pretty  partner  in  the  cricket   games; 
and  at  this  stage  of  the  voyage,  the  men  who  have 
promised  to  be  B.'s   "  brothers  "  on  the  **  Chusan," 
form  quite  a  large  family. 

In  the  calm  waters  of  the  harbor,  six  large  Penin- 
sular and  Oriental  steamers  lay  moored ;  their  masts 
and  spars  drawn  clear  against  the  bright  sky;  and 
the  jetty  lights  from  hundreds  of  cabin-ports  outlined 
them  from  bow  to  stern,  pouring  forth  bright  gold  on 


36  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

the  dancing  waters.  All  ships  bound  to  Australia,  or 
coming  from  China,  rem.ain  at  Colombo,  to  coal  for 
the  voyage;  and  the  passengers  from  the  different 
boats  go  ashore  to  join  in  an  international  dance 
at  the  Grand  Oriental  Hotel.  When  the  clanking 
chains  had  let  down  the  big  anchor,  impatience  made 
us  powerless  to  resist  the  temptation  to  land.  To 
understand  this,  you  must  have  travelled  in  Europe ; 
found  steamships  puffing  on  the  Grand  Canal;  have 
gazed  on  hideous  modern  structures,  replacing  the 
beautiful  old  castles  on  the  Rhine ;  have  paid  your 
fare  in  a  street  car  to  visit  the  Roman  Forum ;  and 
sought  vainly  in  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  Conti- 
nent for  a  spot  uninvaded  by  modern  notions. 

And  here  before  us  was  the  changeless  East,  — 
the  entrance  into  Wonderland,  —  and  was  it  not 
'*  time  elaborately  thrown  away  "  to  remain  on  the 
ship  and  bemoan  our  past  disillusions,  instead  "  of 
having  glimpses  which  might  make  us  less  forlorn?" 
Old  travellers  shake  their  heads  at  the  idea  of  land- 
ing at  night,  and  trusting  our  precious  selves  to  the 
treacherous  natives  at  this  hour;  and  crabbed  age 
and  youth  discuss  the  subject,  until  youth  con- 
quers, and  we  call  a  catamaran.  A  long,  slim  boat 
appears,  rowed  by  six  natives,  wearing  a  waist- 
drapery  of  striped  muslin,  contrasting  well  with 
their  bronzed  skin.  The  boat  fits  you  tightly  on 
either  side  of  the  board  seat,  only  wide  enough  for 


THE   ISLAND   OF  CEYLON.  37 

one  person.  And  the  quaint  touch  is  the  out- 
rigging,  which  keeps  the  boat  from  capsizing  by  a 
balance-log  of  wood,  intersected  with  ropes  and  bent 
poles>  which  touch  the  water,  and  are  attached  to 
the  catamaran  on  one  side  only.  Away  we  go; 
the  Singalese  making  rapid  headway  over  the  rip- 
ples, bending  their  long  necks  forward  and  back- 
ward with  the  stroke,  and  showing  their  white  teeth 
like  flashes. 

We  were  about  midway  across,  when  the  boat  sud- 
denly stopped.  One  instant  of  sickening  fright;  the 
next,  a  wonder  what  was  coming  now.  I  see  one  of 
the  heathen  rise,  and  hear  him  shout  something  in 
strange  sounding  tones  to  the  terrified  attorney- 
general,  accompanied  by  violent  gestures.  Is  it 
robbery  on  the  queen's  highway?  and  I  begin  to 
wonder  if  my  small  silver  would  satisfy  the  brig- 
ands. Then  a  couple  of  natives  forcibly  make 
the  trembling  gentleman  understand  that  he  is  to 
crawl  out  on  the  slender  outrigging,  the  better  to 
balance  the  boat.  Nothing  more  dreadful  occurs, 
and  we  all  laugh  at  our  sudden  panic.  At  last  we 
land  at  a  sort  of  wharf  projecting  into  the  harbor, 
pass  over  that  bit  of  red  sand  facing  the  Grand 
Oriental  Hotel,  are  informed  there  is  no  room  for  us 
in  the  inn ;  and  no  choice  left  but  to  return  to  the 
"  Chusan."  The  lights  were  out  when  we  reached 
the  ship ;   and  we  sought  our  cabins,  stumbling  over 


38  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

bundles  of  deck-sleepers,  who  proved  by  groans  their 
unmistakable  disapproval  of  such  nocturnal  disturb- 
ances —  only  to  find  our  berths  dismantled  of  every- 
thing, down  to  the  mattress,  and  the  cabin  steward 
too  fast  asleep  on  the  dining-room  table  to  be 
aroused ;  so  we  repented  our  haste  during  that  en- 
tire night.  We  went  ashore  early  next  morning, 
and  were  amazed  to  find  the  streets  of  Colombo 
crowded,  the  life  of  the  shops  in  full  swing,  the  banks 
and  public  buildings  open,  and  the  busy  day  well 
begun  at  half-past  seven  A.  M. 

Colombo  is  a  babel  of  strange  sounds  and  colors, 
all  new  and  bewildering  to  me.  Fancy  a  town  of 
one  hundred  thousand  blacks,  —  Singalese,  Tamils, 
Mahometans  and  Hindus, — with  only  fifteen  hun- 
dred Europeans.  The  natives  wear  a  costume,  if 
not  the  strangest,  at  least  the  most  grotesque  that 
one  can  imagine.  The  Singalese  portion  of  the 
population  are  dressed  in  a  dark  coat,  over  a  skirt  of 
white  muslin,  fastened  about  the  waist;  their  long 
black  hair  is  brushed  smoothly  back  from  the  fore- 
head, and  secured  by  a  tortoise-shell  comb,  —  the 
only  feature  which  distinguishes  the  costume  worn 
by  the  men  from  that  of  their  wives,  so  far  as 
I  can  see.  Tea  and  bananas,  our  first  chota-hazri, 
were  served  on  the  piazza  of  the  Grand  Oriental 
Hotel  by  a  native  servant,  dressed  in  about  a 
shilling's   worth    of  white    cotton   cloth.      Then   we 


THE   ISLAND   OF  CEYLON.  39 

secured   our   rooms,   and  spent  the   morning   in   the 
bazaars. 

An  arcade  extends  along  this  low  colonnaded  car- 
avansary, where  the  life  of  the  town  is  concentrated. 
Here  are  the  shops,  the  only  apothecary,  the  only 
bookstand.  Here,  on  the  broad  street,  are  congre- 
gated a  long  line  of  jinrikishas,  the  hansoms  of 
Colombo.  Groups  of  half-naked  coolies  squat  on 
the  ground,  inert  and  motionless,  scarcely  distin- 
guishable from  a  heap  of  dirty  rags.  Not  allowed 
to  approach  nearer  the  hotel,  they  await  the  porter's 
signal ;  when,  filled  with  sudden  life,  they  jump 
quickly  to  a  place  between  the  shafts,  and  rush  for- 
ward with  the  rickshaw.  Here  also  are  the  jewel- 
lers' shops,  where  we  were  shown  glittering  heaps  of 
precious  stones,  but  found  scarcely  a  good  ruby  or 
sapphire  among  them.  Streeter,  of  London,  and  the 
great  New  York  firms  purchase  all  the  valuable 
gems,  leaving  flawed  and  imperfect  stones  for  tour- 
ists. No  sooner  has  the  unwary  traveller  set  foot 
in  the  arcade,  than  these  Moormen  rush  out  of 
their  shops,  push  a  printed  card  of  the  firm  in 
your  hand,  and  press  you  to  enter — no  one  es- 
capes. Once  inside,  courtesy  provides  fans  and 
chairs.  You  are  soon  seated  at  a  table  before  heaps 
of  sparkling  rubies,  cat's-eyes,  pale  sapphires,  and 
moonstones.  Then,  if  you  like,  bargaining  begins, 
and  a  war  of  words  is  waged  on  the  price.     The 


40  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

insinuating  jewellers  produce  well-thumbed  letters 
from  distinguished  customers,  Mr.  Vanderbilt,  or  the 
Rothschilds,  while  they  raise  or  lower  prices  in 
the  scale  of  your  enthusiasm.  The  least  interest 
manifested  in  a  particular  stone  on  your  part  seals 
you  as  their  prey.  They  hunt  you  for  days,  steal 
stealthily  towards  you  at  four  o'clock  tea  on  the 
veranda,  and  thrust  the  stone,  shining  on  a  bit  of 
cotton-wool,  directly  under  your  eyes;  or  suddenly 
come  upon  you,  just  leaving  for  a  drive,  retreating 
from  the  blow  of  the  porter's  stick,  only  to  re-appear 
more  bland  than  before,  —  always  polite,  resenting 
nothing ;  they  finally  astonish  you  by  accepting  a 
tithe  of  the  original  price,  and  you  are  most  fortu- 
nate if  your  gem  proves  not  a  bit  of  bright-colored 
glass.  The  barefooted  rascals  are  cunning,  and  I 
am  no  match  for  them  as  far  as  I  have  gone.  There 
are  several  good  shops  for  tortoise-shell ;  here  is  the 
cheapest  market  in  the  world  for  shell,  which  the 
natives  polish  but  never  carve. 

In  the  hotel,  you  feel  transported  to  another 
planet.  The  building  itself  is  not  remarkable,  re- 
sembling a  large  Italian  house,  white,  low,  and  sur- 
rounded by  balconies,  with  a  beautiful  garden,  rich 
in  flowering  shrubs  and  brilliant  trees ;  but  the  life 
and  customs  of  the  house  are  very  Oriental,  and 
suited  to  the  tropics.  We  have  an  excellent  table, 
—  in  the  morning,  chota-hazvi  (tea  and  toast,  bananas 


THE   ISLAND   OF  CEYLON.  4 1 

and  jam)  is  served  in  our  room  at  six  A.  M. ;  break- 
fast {bnrra-hazri,  or  the  big  breakfast)  comes  at  nine  ; 
tiffin  at  two;  and  dinner  at  the  tabic  d'Jiote  at  eight. 
The  great  native  plat  is  "curry":  well,  "curry" 
means  anything,  meat  or  vegetable,  accompanied 
by  miscellaneous  dishes  at  the  same  time.  Our 
"  curry "  of  meat  at  dinner  last  evening  was  eaten 
with  dried  cocoanut,  chutney  simple  and  chutney 
green,  Bombay  duck  (a  funny  little  dried  fish  to  be 
eaten  with  your  fingers)  rice,  pulled  bread,  and  turn- 
over of  potatoes,  fresh  yellow  cocoanut,  grated  fine, 
white  cocoanut  sliced,  besides  the  spices.  All  our 
servants  are  men;  and  are  called,  old  and  young 
indiscriminately,  by  one  general  name,  "  boy."  It 
seems  so  absurd  to  call  one  of  these  grave,  white- 
bearded  Singalese,  a  "boy." 

In  the  East,  you  are  not  expected  to  do  anything 
for  yourself,  never  to  stoop  or  to  cross  the  room : 
one  call  in  the  corridor  brings  a  black  multitude  to 
your  door,  who  know  nothing  but  to  serve  you 
quickly  and  faithfully  as  a  matter  of  course.  I 
would  give  much  for  a  picture  of  the  Singalese  bar- 
ber who  did  the  shampooing  of  my  hair  this  morn- 
ing,—  straight  as  an  arrow,  in  clinging  white  under- 
garment reaching  to  his  bare  feet,  and  a  loose  white 
coat;  his  front  hair  combed  straight  back  under  a 
narrow  tortoise-shell  comb.  They  all  speak  a  few^ 
words    of  several    languages,  and  understand  better 


42  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

if  one  speaks  broken  English  to  them.  I  informed 
my  native  barber  that  I  Hved  in  America,  not  in 
England ;  and  in  wonder,  he  replied,  "  Lady  speaks 
English  very,  very  well." 

Colombo,  Christmas  Day. 
I  was  awake  this  morning  at  six  o'clock,  having  it 
on  my  mind  that  Christmas  had  come  in  Ceylon.  A 
very  few  fire- crackers  and  the  church  bells  from  the 
fort  sounded  outside  my  window  ;  but  by  far  the  most 
noise  was  made  by  the  birds  in  the  garden  trees  who 
carolled  away  without  ceasing.  B.  came  in  with 
Christmas  greetings,  and  brought  me  a  dainty  chota- 
hazri,  and  soon  we  were  both  off  in  a  gharri  to 
the  English  church  for  eight  o'clock  service.  The 
church,  mossy  and  gray,  is  placed  above  the  roadside 
in  a  dense  palm  grove.  Among  the  congregation 
already  in  the  church  were  high-caste  native  ladies, 
who  occupied  the  benches,  dressed  in  full  low-necked 
and  short-sleeved  gowns ;  their  bronzy  black  necks 
and  arms  quite  covered  with  bracelets  and  jewelry. 
A  drapery  of  white  worked  veiling  covered  the  head, 
reaching  to  the  waist ;  and  a  few  wore  old-fashioned 
and  very  scanty  satin  skirts.  We  passed  many  na- 
tive grandees  going  to  church  in  coaches,  driven  by 
black  coachmen,  in  their  white  trousers,  bare  knees, 
and  barefooted.  Some  Europeans  drove  very  smart 
dog-carts,    with   black   grooms   standing    behind,    in 


THE   ISLAND   OF  CEYLON. 


43 


bright  red  or  yellow  turbans  and  sashes  ;  and  all  in 
white,  without  shoes  and  stockings.  Indeed,  every- 
thing in  this  climate  is  white.  Carriages,  and  also 
umbrellas,  are  covered  with  white  linen,  as  a  pro- 
tection against  the  sun's  rays ;  even  the  residents 
appear  in  the  evening  for  dinner  in  white  linen 
clothes  of  English  cut  and  make,  and  belted  with 
red  sashes,  which  look  very  bright  in  a  drawing- 
room.  In  church,  the  service  was  read  by  the 
European  chaplain  from  the  fort  ;  and  the  choir, 
organist  and  choristers,  are  all  recruited  from  our 
dark  brothers,  the  Singalese  converts.  For  a  re- 
minder of  Christmas,  the  church  is  festooned  in 
white  and  green,  while  a  couple  of  boys  outside  the 
open  windows  are  pulling  an  immense  punkah  to 
and  fro  over  the  heads  of  the  congregation ;  and 
from  the  doorway  steals  in  the  scented  air  of  cinna- 
mon gardens,  and  birds  fly  in  and  out  of  the 
windows,  joining  in  carols  and  chants.  "■  High  noon 
behind  the  tamarisks ;  the  sun  is  hot  above  us,  as 
at  home  the  Christmas  Day  is  breaking  wan." 

December  26. 
Another  holiday,  but  rather  a  trying  one  for  us, 
for  the  banks  will  not  be  open  in  three  days  for  mail. 
To-day  we  drove  out  to  an  English  bungalow  in  the 
cinnamon  gardens,  for  four  o'clock  tea.  These 
spicy  gardens   extend    in  every  direction  for  miles. 


44  ^    GIRVS  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

where  white  colonnaded  bungalows  are  dotted  here 
and  there,  half  hidden  in  groves  of  feathery  palms ; 
where  the  Coleas  make  the  hedges,  and  the  roses  of 
Sharon  the  shade  trees.  A  bungalow  in  Ceylon 
means  a  low,  thatched,  one-story  house,  surrounded 
with  piazzas  nearly  as  large  as  the  building  itself, 
screened  with  mattings,  and  carpeted  with  bamboo 
rugs  about  the  floor.  The  Ceylon  tea  is  light  in  color, 
very  mild  and  refreshing  in  this  climate.  After  tea, 
we  drove  in  Mrs.  A.'s  laudau  to  the  museum.  This, 
an  exceedingly  interesting  one,  is  rich  in  native  ani- 
mals, tigers,  elephants,  and  snakes,  and  also  in  curious 
jewelry,  used  for  bridals  and  feasts  by  the  ancient 
Kandians,  who  excelled  in  wondrously  carved  gold 
and  silver  work.  A  curious  reminder  of  our  own 
country  were  the  masks,  used  even  to-day  by  native 
Hindu  priests  for  devil  dances.  They  resemble 
those  the  medicine  men  depend  on  to  drive  away 
sickness  among  the  Alaska  Indians ;  the  masks  ex- 
pressing different  degrees  of  hideousness  to  charm 
away  lameness,  a  man  rushing  away  to  kill  himself,  a 
fever-tormented  person.  This  rude  belief  in  charms 
and  sorcery  mingles  the  superstitions  of  far-away 
savages  with  pagan  rites.  Who  can  give  a  clew  to 
this  strange  similarity? 

An  endless  tide  of  every  degree  of  Asiatic  hu- 
manity ebbs  and  flows  through  the  palm-fringed 
streets  and  sandy  roads  of  Colombo.     I  am  watching 


THE  ISLAND   OF  CEYLON.  45 

these  crowds  from  my  balcony,  when  a  familiar 
sound  comes  to  my  ears:  "Is  the  world  going 
wrong?"  A  gay  procession  is  coming  down  the 
dusty  high-road,  —  a  procession  reviving  childish 
Bible  memories  of  Miriam,  composed  of  one  hun- 
dred barefooted  maidens,  in  flowing  yellow  under- 
garments, turkey-red  jackets,  and  the  same  pale 
yellow  muslin  floating  from  their  pretty  heads. 
They  all  have  their  tambourines,  and  shout  as  they 
pass:  "We  will  do  what  we  can,"  in  the  lively  tune 
belonging  to  the  hymn.  The  flaming  banners  of  the 
Salvation  Army  are  flying  over  the  heads  of  the  pale- 
faced  English  lasses,  who,  hoping  to  come  more  in 
touch  with  the  natives,  have  adopted  the  Singa- 
lese  dress  and  food,  and  live  this  self-sacrificing 
life.  Unmindful  of  the  noon-day  sun,  they  march 
through  the  burning  streets  towards  the  pier,  to 
greet  other  Salvationists,  who  land  to-day  in  a 
special  ship  from  England  ;  and  with  more  noise  and 
the  beating  of  drums,  have  recruited  many  pictur- 
esque additions  of  curious  natives  and  children,  in 
all  colors  and  costumes,  who  join  in  the  march  to  the 
barracks.  The  Army  is  said  to  be  doing  great  good 
among  the  native  people  ;  and  when  we  visited  head- 
quarters, a  sweet,  soft-voiced  English  woman  told  us 
of  her  life  here  as  a  staff-officer.  "  It  is  marvellous," 
she  said,  "  the  kindness  shown  to  us  by  the  natives 
once  you  get  near  their  hearts  ;  and  I  dread  going 


46  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

back  to  Europeans."  She  related  to  us  a  sad  story 
of  a  young  Tamil  girl,  whose  mother  desperately  op- 
posed her  joining  the  Army,  threatening  to  place  her 
own  head  under  a  cart-wheel,  unless  the  daughter 
returned  to  the  faith.  On  her  refusing,  the  mother 
ended  her  life  in  this  way,  but  in  vain,  as  the  girl 
still  remains  true.  Also  a  Parsee  from  Bombay  has 
arrived  here,  who  was  almost  killed  by  his  people 
because  of  their  hatred  of  this  new  religion.  All 
these  incidents  show  something  of  the  opposition 
which  General  Booth's  army  encounters  in  the  East. 

What  a  collection  of  nationalities  and  tongues 
Ceylon  possesses.  First,  the  Singalese,  known  by 
tortoise-shell  combs,  long  black  hair,  bare-headed 
under  an  umbrella  of  cotton;  Tamils  from  South- 
ern India,  wearing  more  jewelry  and  white  or  red 
turbans ;  Mahometans,  shaven  and  shorn  under 
their  funnel-shaped  and  many-colored  bonnets;  Eu- 
ropean planters  with  pale  faces,  or  intensely  burned 
and  browned  by  the  tropical  sun ;  Buddhist  monks, 
in  yellow  robes  and  shaven  heads,  munching  a  leaf 
of  betel-nut  and  plying  a  palm-leaf  fan,  while 
behind  them  walks  a  little  novice,  all  in  white,  who 
is  carrying  a  cotton  umbrella  under  his  arm.  Eng- 
land has  here  a  rare  collection  of  subjects,  differing 
not  only  in  their  religion  and  country,  their  lan- 
guage and  dress,  but  in  opinions,  ideas,  and  thoughts. 

Without  going  back  to  Sinbad  the  Sailor,  whose 


THE  ISLAND   OF  CEYLON.  47 

adventures  among  the  elephants  of  the  Island  of 
Ceylon  are  our  delight;  not  even  recalling  the 
more  prosaic  Greeks,  or  Arabians, — we  know  that 
adventurous  Portuguese  visited  Ceylon  in  the  six- 
teenth century,  and  the  colonizing  Dutchmen,  a 
hundred  years  later,  left  a  permanent  impression  on 
the  nomenclature  of  the  beautiful  island  of  Lanka. 
Among  the  shops  are  still  many  whose  signs  bear 
the  hard  Northern  inscription.  One  might  easily 
fancy  oneself  walking  through  the  streets  of  The 
Hague,  seeing  the  rows  of  sign-boards  over  the 
shops  with  distinctly  Dutch  names,  similar  to  the 
one  I  have  copied. 

M.  C.  JOONOOS   &  CO., 

JEWELLERS, 

AND 

DEALERS   IN   PRECIOUS   STONES, 

No.  12  York  Street, 

COLOMBO,   CEYLON. 

Colombo  has  replaced  the  older  town  of  Point 
de  Galle  as  the  capital  of  Ceylon.  The  streets 
are  extremely  wide,  bordered  with  palm-trees,  and 
with  houses  generally  one-story  high,  having  ar- 
cades, colonnades,  and  verandas;  and  many  trees, 
and  lawns  planted  with  shrubbery,  link  together  these 
quaint  dwellings.  Another  afternoon  we  drove  to  the 
suburban  annex  of  Colombo ;  here  the  rich  tropical 


48  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

vegetation  is  cleared  away  in  patches,  and  villas 
with  backgrounds  of  cocoanut-trees  and  bananas 
spring  up  in  every  direction  between  the  road  and 
the  ocean.  The  road  winds  through  luxuriant 
foliage,  with  here  and  there  lovely  sea-views  of 
the  harbor,  and  the  purple  lights  of  the  Indian 
Ocean  stretching  way  beyond.  Every  bungalow 
has  a  boundless  ocean  view  from  its  front  door; 
and  towards  evening  the  merchants  and  men  of 
business  may  be  seen  driving  to  these  lovely  homes 
in  rickshaws  drawn  at  a  lively  trot  by  native  coolies, 
who  are  taking  their  masters  home  to  sleep  away 
the  cares  and  fatigues  of  office  life  in  the  sweet- 
scented  air  and  refreshing  breezes  of  this  beautiful 
spot. 

These  rickshaw  coolies  smear  themselves  once  a 
week  with  cocoanut  oil,  so  that  it  makes  them  imper- 
vious to  the  weather,  draughts,  or  cold  nights  or 
rainy  days.  There  is  a  general  impression  that  the 
coolie  will  soon  become  as  extinct  a  specimen  as 
the  mastodon,  owing  to  lung  troubles  brought  on 
by  exposure  in  their  scanty  clothing  to  night  winds. 
A  movement  was  started  this  Christmas  by  the 
English  Bishop  for  the  purpose  of  providing  cast-off 
coats  for  the  use  of  the  coolies,  who  are  thought- 
lessly left  to  stand  in  cold  draughts,  by  their  masters, 
after  a  sharp  run,  of  perhaps  miles,  in  the  heat  of 
the  noon-day. 


THE   ISLAND   OF  CEYLON,  49 

We  returned  past  the  Galle  Face  Hotel,  half  hid- 
den behind  the  green  foliage  and  fronting  the  ocean. 
Here  we  paused  a  few  moments  to  breathe  the  de- 
licious air  and  enjoy  the  magnificent  view.  It  was  a 
beautiful  scene,  —  a  tropical  sunset.  The  sky  faded, 
without  one  speck  or  cloud,  from  glorious  orange, 
softening  into  pale  violet.  A  silver  moon  was  re- 
flected in  a  lake  on  one  side;  the  ocean,  brilliant, 
intense,  emerald,  on  the  other.  Separating  the 
ocean  from  the  lake  was  a  mile  of  red,  sandy  drive- 
way, only  a  hundred  feet  wide  between  the  fresh 
lake  and  the  dreary  waste  of  ocean,  and  over  all, 
the  quiet  and  hush  of  Nature's  lullaby,  —  "It  were 
as  if  sunlight  should  shine  out  of  deepest  dark, 
illumining  night's  peace  with  daytime's  glow." 

December  29. 
We  have  driven  to  Kalanie.  It  was  necessary  to 
make  a  very  early  start  indeed ;  for  in  this  hot  cli^ 
mate  the  noon-day  sun  puts  an  end  alike  to  business 
and  pleasure  after  ten  o'clock.  A  fresh  air  blew 
sofdy  through  the  trees,  stirring  up  an  occasional 
puff  of  dust  in  the  streets.  Before  starting  out  we 
picked  up  our  Hindu  guide  from  a  motley  crowd 
of  natives  at  the  entrance  of  the  hotel,  choosing 
one  especially  recommended  for  his  linguistic  tal- 
ents. It  was  soon  evident  that  our  information 
concerning  the  various    points    of  interest   en    route 

4 


50  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

would  be  conveyed  to  us  in  a  choice  vocabulary 
of  ten  very  broken,  very  imperfect,  almost  unin- 
telligible English  words  possessed  by  the  guide. 

Kalanie  is  an  old  Buddhist  town  fourteen  miles 
distant  from  Colombo,  reached  by  a  narrow  road 
cut  through  a  jungle  of  luxuriant  growth.  On  the 
outskirts  of  the  town  we  passed  through  several 
native  settlements,  meeting  numerous  venders  carry- 
ing large  baskets  of  the  green  betel-nut  on  their 
heads.  From  the  size  of  the  baskets  and  quantity 
of  leaves  one  would  imagine  the  supply  coming  into 
Colombo  in  the  morning  would  be  sufficient  for  the 
entire  East;  but  they  assured  us  not  a  single  leaf 
would  remain  unsold  by  the  evening.  We  passed 
crowds  of  children  playing  in  the  narrow  streets, 
where  vegetables  and  fresh  fruits  are  sold  on  the 
side-walk  by  half-clad  and  wretched  natives.  We 
could  not  drive  very  fast  for  fear  of  running  over 
the  small  urchins  squatting  about  the  roadway,  en- 
joying to  their  heart's  content  a  game  of  marbles, 
played  just  as  children  would  in  our  country. 

Here  and  there  was  a  pretty  Buddhist  home ;  and 
sometimes  the  devout  inmates  were  tracing  white 
arabesque  designs  in  chalk  on  the  hard,  yellow 
ground  before  their  doors,  placing  at  each  end  of 
the  lines  bunches  of  the  roses  of  Sharon,  red  and 
brilliant  against  the  sun-baked  earth, — it  being  the 
Singalese  way  of  honoring  a  saint's   fete.     In   their 


THE  ISLAND   OF  CEYLON. 


51 


Tengyiir,  Buddhists  have  particular  directions  laid 
down  for  constructing  magical  squares  and  angles 
around  the  images  of  tutelary  saints  who  are  thus 
worshipped.  Such  figures  are  varied  according  to 
the  school  of  the  disciple:  some  patterns  are 
rounded,  some  oblong,  others  square ;  and  traced 
in  colored  chalks,  they  resemble  the  decorative  pave- 
ment-drawings used  for  advertisements  in  cities. 

Farther  on  a  river  is  crossed  by  a  bridge  of  boats 
w^hich  earned  a  title  for  the  architect.  The  narrow 
stream  is  bordered  and  shaded  by  thickets  of  cocoa- 
nut-palms  which  Mark  Twain  describes  as  "feather- 
dusters  struck  by  lightning."  I  fancy  this  comes 
from  the  slanting  angle  of  their  slender  trunks,  end- 
ing in  a  tuft  of  feathery  leaves,  which  gives  the  whole 
country  the  effect  of  having  been  swept  by  a  hurri- 
cane. Ten  of  these  cocoanut-trees  are  a  native's 
wedding  portion  to  his  daughter,  —  a  valuable  heri- 
tage indeed,  when  you  consider  the  great  possibilities 
of  usefulness  to  a  native  household.  The  Singalese 
rely  solely  on  the  leaves  for  thatching  their  huts ; 
avail  themselves  of  the  juice,  called  tody,  for  con- 
vivial occasions ;  make  the  fibre  into  cloth  ;  to  say 
nothing  of  the  cocoanuts  themselves,  which  furnish 
them  milk  and  capital  curry. 

At  last  we  reached  the  jungle.  Ever  since  I  had 
been  in  this  country  I  had  been  pining  to  see  a  trop- 
ical  jungle,  —  a    real    haunt    of    wild    animals    and 


52  A    GIRVS  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

deadly  snakes.  On  both  sides  of  the  road  stretched 
a  forest  of  thick,  interminable,  green  palms  and 
bananas,  interwoven  with  vines  and  clinging  plants. 
Here  were  the  bread-fruit-trees  and  spreading  man- 
goes, many  rare  ferns  and  fantastic  bushes,  besides 
the  jack-tree,  whose  mammoth  green  fruit,  shaped 
like  a  prickly  gourd,  runs  tear-like  down  the  trunk, 
instead  of  growing  properly  on  branches  in  a  con- 
ventional manner.  It  was  all  indescribably  beauti- 
ful, and  awed  one  by  the  intense,  the  absolute  silence 
of  desolation  broken  only  by  the  bird  dwellers  of  its 
dark  and  lonely  depths.  Nothing  could  induce  a 
person,  other  than  a  native  or  a  most  enthusiastic 
sportsman,  to  venture  ten  feet  in  the  tall  stems  of 
purple  foliage  or  the  green  thicket  of  branching 
boughs.  The  vegetation  is  almost  too  luxuriant;  it 
goes  against  man's  efforts  towards  cultivation,  as  the 
Arctic  barrenness  would  discourage  one  in  this  lack 
of  vegetation.  Everything  grows  so  rank,  —  cut  away 
a  root,  and  flowers  will  cover  the  earth ;  a  little  twig 
stuck  into  the  ground  becomes  a  tree  in  a  year. 

I  wish  I  could  take  some  of  the  fascinating  photo- 
graphs one  could  so  easily  make.  Every  spot  is  a 
picture ;  and  there  are  so  many  delicious  places  and 
queer  scenes  that  a  camera  would  be  better  than  a 
volume  of  letters.  Now  and  then  we  pass  native 
huts,  thatched  down  to  the  ground  with  cocoanut 
fibre,  where,  from  the    inky  blackness   of  the    only 


rilE  ISLAND   OF  CEYLON.  53 

Opening  in  the  house,  a  native  appears  in  his  ragged 
waist-cloth,  only  less  dark  than  his  habitation.  The 
only  touch  of  color  is  the  great  yellow  stem  of 
bananas  hanging  in  the  doorway,  cut  fresh  this 
morning  from  his  own  stock  of  trees  in  the  jungle. 
These  he  may  dispose  of  during  the  day  for  a  couple 
of  annas,  should  a  passer-by  have  need  of  them. 

The  temples  at  Kalanie  form  a  collection  of  rude 
and  neglected  shrines,  dirty  and  ill-kept,  but  interest- 
ing as  the  oldest  Buddhist  remains  in  Ceylon.  Ka- 
lanie was  once  a  famous  seat  of  Buddhist  learning, 
and  known  all  over  the  Eastern  world.  What  a 
change,  —  almost  all  traces  of  former  grandeur 
have  vanished  !  The  most  ancient  building  is  a  kiln- 
shaped,  white-plastered  tope,  its  base  half  hidden 
by  tall  grasses.  The  interior  remains  a  secret ;  no 
permission  to  visit  the  shrine  has  ever  been  extended 
to  travellers.  This  tope  is  claimed  by  the  monks  to 
date  with  the  pyramids  ;  an  antiquity  very  absurd  and 
unfounded  according  to  a  recent  statement  of  Max 
MuUer,  who  places  the  earliest  Vedic  hymns  about 
1500  B.  C,  and  declares  that  Buddhism  stands  to 
Brahminism  as  Protestanism  stands  to  Roman  Catho- 
licism;  and  to  effect  such  changes  and  reforms  re- 
quires centuries.  So  the  enormous  antiquity  of  our 
Kalanie  tope  must  be  brought  forward  from  the 
youth  of  the  world  into  her  more  vigorous  age.  It 
has  been  truly  said,  "  that  Oriental  scholarship  has 
wrought   an   almost   miraculous   change   among  the 


54  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

ruins  of  the  past.  What  was  old  has  become  new; 
what  was  young  has  become  old." 

Children,  beautiful,  dark-eyed  children,  offer  us 
temple  flowers,  and,  on  seeing  us  arrive,  cry,  in  a 
well-meant  effort  of  welcome,  ''  Good-by,  lady ! 
good-by."  They  are  simply  the  most  lovely  chil- 
dren ever  seen,  with  great  dreamy  eyes  and  bright 
expressive  faces.  They  are  a  great  deal  prettier 
and  more  graceful  than  our  village  children,  and 
came  swarming  around  us,  darting  behind  some 
shelter  when  warned  by  the  priests  in  emphatic 
Singalese  and  gestures,  which  we  could  understand, 
at  least  that  they  must  leave  our  ladyships  in  peace. 

Two  priests  were  being  photographed  by  an  ama- 
teur under  a  sacred  bo-tree.  We  observe  the  mild 
brethren  of  the  yellow  robe,  in  spite  of  their  per- 
fectly impassive  countenances  expressing  a  would-be 
attainment  of  an  earthly  Nirvana,  show  that  little 
touch  of  human  vanity,  in  posing  before  the  camera, 
which  makes  the  whole  world  kin.  One  of  the 
priests  afterwards  volunteered  to  show  us  the  tem- 
ples, where  the  life  and  work  of  Buddha  was  rudely 
pictured  in  bright  colors  on  the  walls.  After  a 
struggle  to  conquer  English  words,  which  I  thought 
w^ould  cause  his  sudden  death,  the  yellow  priest, 
exhausted  from  his  labors,  drew  a  disconsolate 
breath,  and  pointing  to  the  still  unexplained  pic- 
tures and  sculptures  of  his  master,  Buddha,  said: 
"•  Lady    know   repeat    Edwin   Arnold;     lady   know 


THE   ISLAXD   OF  CEYLON.  55 

repeat  everything,"  —  which  means  that  the  ''Light 
of  Asia,"  containing  Buddha's  hfe-history,  would 
reheve  the  poor  monk  of  future  efforts  to  enhghten 
us.  It  is  a  perfect  enchantment  to  be  here;  the  quiet 
Buddhist  temple,  the  impassive  priests,  the  roguish 
little  fairies  of  children,  and  ourselves,  —  the  heirs  of 
all  the  ages,  meeting  in  this  distant,  mysterious,  and 
sacred  place  of  the  ancient  religion.  But  the  sun  is 
getting  high,  and  it  is  quite  time  we  were  starting 
for  home. 

December  31. 

We  left  Colombo  at  seven,  yesterday  morning, 
for  this  mountain  retreat  of  Kandy.  The  baggage 
consisted  of  our  English  boxes  in  the  van,  seven 
cushions,  one  quilted  comforter,  one  lunch-basket, 
four  large  and  two  small  bags,  three  heavy  rugs, 
with  numerous  jackets  and  coats.  Our  destination 
is  seventy-two  miles  from  Colombo  ;  but  it  must  be 
acknowledged  that  each  mile  might  fairly  count  for  six 
American  ones  if  the  difficulty  of  getting  over  it  were 
considered  :  so  the  journey  occupied  four  hours  of 
a  beautiful  morning,  and  the  road  climbed  a  suc- 
cession of  hills,  and  from  the  top  of  each  opened  a 
wide  and  lovely  prospect. 

We  travelled  in  an  open,  airy,  tropical  railway- 
carriage,  with  cushioned  seats  around  three  sides  of 
the  compartment,  without  window-glass,  and  shaded 
from  the  sun's  rays  by  an  overhanging  roof.     This 


56  A    GIRVS  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

road  was  built,  under  great  difficulties,  to  connect 
Colombo  with  the  cool  mountain  heights  of  frosty 
Neuraellia;  and  Kandy  is  the  first  stage  on  the 
journey.  It  is  difficult  to  imagine  how  this  road 
could  be  built  through  the  marshy  country  below  the 
hills,  —  a  perfect  laboratory  of  fevers  and  other 
deadly  enemies  of  mankind.  Kandy  is  1650  feet 
above  mean  sea-level ;  and  the  climate  is  several 
degrees  cooler  than  on  the  coast. 

It  is  holiday-time;  and  all  the  government  officials 
of  Colombo  have  run  up  to  enjoy  their  Christmas 
sports,  made  possible  by  this  cooler  atmosphere. 
The  ancient  chiefs  of  Kandy  had  a  rank  and  power 
among  the  greatest  in  the  island.  To-day  there 
remains  of  the  ancient  kingdom  but  a  souvenir  of 
gray-bearded  men.  In  the  far  distance  one  can 
discern  on  clear  days  a  high,  blue  chain  of  moun- 
tains crowned  with  the  well-known  Adam's  Peak. 
It  seems  that  near  the  summit  of  the  peak  one  finds 
in  the  rock  a  cavity  which  produces  a  very  faithful 
effect  of  a  gigantic  human  foot.  This  excavation  is 
claimed  by  the  Hindus,  who  recognize  here  the 
foot  of  Siva;  the  Buddhists,  of  Buddha ;  the  Chinese, 
another  patron  saint ;  the  Mahometans,  Adam ; 
and  the  Portuguese,  I  believe,  very  appropriately 
claim  it  for  Doubting  Thomas.  To-day  it  is  pos- 
sessed by  the  Buddhists,  who  have  raised  there  a 
little   chapel,  —  a  sacred  place   of  pilgrimage. 


IN  A   SIXGALESE  PARADISE.  57 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN    A   SINGALESE   PARADISE. 

Kandy,  New  Year's  Day. 

JUST  think  of  it,  January  first;  the  hot  sun  and 
flower-scented  air  of  Kandy;  and  B.  and  I 
sitting  on  the  piazza  of  this  hotel  in  the  thinnest  of 
summer  gowns !  Perfection  made  perfect  would 
faintly  describe  this  Kandy,  this  supposed  Paradis 
Terestre,  this  actual  garden  of  the  whole  earth. 
Yesterday  afternoon  we  left  for  a  drive  about  five 
o'clock.  The  walks  and  drives  of  Kandy  wind 
through  a  jungle  of  primeval  forest-palms  and 
acacia-trees ;  their  names  are  prettily  chosen  from 
the  wives  of  the  governors  of  the  island,  —  Lady 
Gordon's  walk,  Lady  Horton's  walk,  and  so  on. 
The  dense  shade  of  high,  fringed  palms  and  creep- 
ers border  high  and  low  the  streak  of  red  road- 
way through  the  endless  green  of  the  forest.  Wild 
flowers  are  purple  masses ;  creepers  grown  at  home 
in  hot-houses  cover  in  wild  luxuriance  every  hut 
and  space  in  all  directions.  Vines  grow  larger  than 
the  tree  trunks  they  encircle,  and  hang  in  a  perfect 


58  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

shower  of  gorgeous  red  flowers.  All  our  hot-house 
plants  run  perfectly  wild  over  the  country  in  greatest 
profusion.  Such  a  spot!  One  must  be  silent,  or  fail 
in  the  attempt  to  describe  the  beautiful  ferns  and 
foliage  growing  in  the  damp,  shady  forest. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  we  re-enter  the  town,  and 
pass  some  shops.  The  Kandian  merchants  are  very 
anxious  for  the  unwary  traveller  to  enter  their  little 
traps,  and  most  picturesque  and  persuasive  they  are 
in  showing  their  delicate  repousse  gold  and  silver 
work.  In  olden  times,  Kandian  knives  were  among 
the  most  famous  in  the  world.  Few  ancient  speci- 
mens exist  outside  of  the  museum;  but  every  shop 
contains  clever  imitations,  buried  in  the  earth  for 
years,  to  obtain  the  ancient  rust  and  mould.  A  white- 
turbaned  Bombay  merchant  is  selling  these  knives, 
exquisitely  wrought  and  chased  in  silver.  We  are  on 
the  point  of  being  tempted,  but  stop  to  listen  to  a 
warning  story  told  us  by  our  companion,  an  old  tea- 
planter,  several  years  in  Ceylon.     ''  Not  many  years 

ago,"  he  says,  "  Mr.  L ,  from  London,  a  well-known 

dealer  in  Eastern  curios,  stayed  at  Kandy.  He  was 
fascinated  one  day  into  bargaining  for  an  old  knife, 
a  Kandian  blade,  said  to  be  at  least  two  thousand 
years  old,  belonging,  the  merchant  declared,  to  his 
own  great-grandfather,  who  had  inherited  it.     While 

the  bargain  was  going  on,   Mr.   L took  out  his 

handkerchief  and    quietly   commenced    rubbing   the 


IN  A   SING  ALES E   PARADISE.  59 

blade  of  the  knife.  The  merchant  went  on  bargain- 
ing, and   Mr.   L poHshing   the   blade,    until    the 

original  mark  was  shown ;  then  he  said  to  the  as- 
tonished merchant :  *  You  say  this  belonged  to 
your  grandfather;  did  your  grandfather  live  in 
Sheffield?'" 

Unprogressive  Kandy,  you  are  so  indescribably 
Eastern  and  inexpressibly  queer,  so  slow  in  some 
respects  to  adopt  new  ideas,  yet  so  willing  in  other 
ways  to  go  on  with  the  times !  Fancy  the  scene  I 
witnessed  to-day  from  my  balcony  window.  A  num- 
ber of  coolies  let  down  buckets  into  the  lake  opposite 
the  hotel,  filled  them  with  water,  and  scattered  in  all 
directions  over  the  town  to  sprinkle  the  dusty  streets. 
The  talk  at  dinner  last  evening  ran  on  this  same  sub- 
ject,—  the  unreadiness  of  the  natives  to  adopt  new 
customs;  and  for  illustration,  I  listened  to  a  story 
something  like  this :  When  the  railroad  was  being 
made  to  Kandy,  the  laboring  natives  used  a  sort  of 
prehistoric  pick  and  shovel  combined,  to  break  the 
ground  and  take  the  dirt  away  at  the  same  time. 
The  work  was  so  slow  and  wearisome  for  the  coolies, 
that  some  humane  contractor  bought  them  wheel- 
barrows. Now,  what  do  you  think  they  did  with 
these  new  and  strange  implements?  Put  them  at 
once  on  their  heads  and  carried  them.  From  carry- 
ing their  fruits  and  baskets  on  their  heads,  the 
natives  have  at  least  learned  to  walk  superbly,  and 
to  hold  themselves  straidit  and  well. 


60  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

For  many  days  it  has  not  only  been  very  warm  in 
the  sun,  but  a  hght  hot  air  has  blown  over  everything, 
not  strong  enough  to  be  called  a  hot  wind,  yet  it 
sometimes  scorches  like  the  breath  from  a  furnace 
mouth.  The  heat  at  mid-day  is  something  dreadful; 
but  we  are  cautioned  that  the  damp  air  of  the  even- 
ing will  bring  out  any  fever  you  may  have  lurking 
about  you,  so  we  rarely  sit  in  the  wind  by  night, 
and  by  day  avoid  the  sun  as  we  would  the  evil  one. 
This  Ceylon,  with  all  its  fascination  of  life  and 
scenery,  is  but  a  gilded  cage,  well  enough  to  visit 
and  keep  lovely  memories  of  hereafter,  but  one 
would  not  live  here  to  possess  the  rubies  of  its  richest 
mountains.  You  cannot  help  feeling  a  genuine  sym- 
pathy for  these  poor  English  younger  sons,  or  strug- 
gling planters,  who  own  plantations,  and  live  in  the 
midst  of  their  coolies  far  away  on  the  mountainous 
tea-estates;  they  all  dislike  the  life,  which  means 
separation  from  family  and  country,  and  rush  back 
to  their  cold  and  foggy  England  the  very  moment 
the  golden  way  is  wide  enough  for  them  to  walk 
on  it. 

One  of  these  tea-estates  lies  about  four  miles  from 
the  town,  and  it  was  there  we  drove  this  afternoon 
after  four  o'clock  tea.  Leaving  Kandy,  in  a  few 
minutes  we  were  amid  the  tropical  vegetation  which 
makes  a  green  and  tangled  girdle  about  the  old  town 
as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach.     Plunging  through  the 


IN  A   SINGALESE  PARADISE.  6 1 

sandy  roadway,  our  destination  was  reached  in  pass- 
ing fields  of  reedy  bamboos,  cinchona- trees,  and  rust- 
ling broad-leaved  bananas,  to  a  clearing,  where  the 
tea-house  stands,  folded  about  by  the  rolling  hills, 
planted  with  the  sentinel-like  bushes  of  the  tea-plant. 
How  green  and  fragrant  and  quiet  it  all  is  !  Nothing 
could  be  a  greater  contrast  to  the  bustling  factory 
life  of  our  country  towns  than  this  quiet  scene, 
where  soft-footed  coolies  move  noiselessly  about 
their  various  occupations  of  sorting,  drying,  and 
picking  the  tea-leaves,  with  as  little  bustle  and 
clatter   as   so   many   dark,   barefooted   ghosts.       The 

owner  of  this  tea-estate   is   a   Mr.  A ,  and   it  is 

called  by  the  soft-sounding  name  of  "■  Peradeniya." 
The  tea  was  growing  on  small  stubby  bushes,  about 
one  or  two  feet  from  the  ground;  excepting  a  few 
months  during  the  summer,  it  is  picked  the  year 
round.  Hundreds  of  dark-skinned  natives  go  forth 
in  the  early  morning,  armed  for  the  work  with  long 
reed  baskets  carried  on  their  heads,  —  the  men  with 
a  few  yards  of  muslin  fastened  about  the  waist ;  the 
women  brightly  draped  in  cottons,  falling  gracefully 
from  the  shoulders  to  the  bare  knee,  one  end  of 
the  scarf  thrown  completely  over  the  head.  Bright 
bits  of  colored  glass  made  into  jewelry  decorate  the 
throat;  and  from  feet  and  ankles,  ears  and  nose, 
are  looped  circles  of  gold,  more  or  less  valuable, 
which   are  the  women's    pride    of   life.     Even  little 


62  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

children  are  pressed  into  the  service,  —  solemn,  little, 
sad-eyed  children,  stunted  and  overworked,  as  differ- 
ent as  possible  from  the  laughing  and  capering  boys 
and  girls  of  other  lands. 

The  coolies  pick  only  the  first  three  or  four  leaves 
of  the  plant;  the  larger  leaves  make  the  coarse  tea, 
the  smaller  and  more  tender  ones  the  medium 
grades;  and  the  delicious  orange  Pekoe  is  produced 
from  the  first  leaf  and  the  little  yellow  bud  that  grow 
at  the  ends  of  the  stem.  As  each  basket  is  filled,  it 
is  brought  by  the  natives  to  the  receiving-room  of  the 
tea-house  and  weighed,  each  one  separately,  and  pay 
given  to  the  coolie  on  the  spot.  It  is  difficult  to 
imagine  a  more  picturesque  scene  than  these  people 
present  in  their  gay  dresses,  filing  in  through  the 
doorways,  and  heaping  up  the  great  rich  green  of 
the  tea-leaves  in  masses  almost  as  tall  as  themselves. 
After  the  green  leaves  have  been  scattered  on  canvas 
frames  to  wither  for  a  day  and  a  half,  the  leaf  is  taken 
to  fomenting  vats,  then  dried  in  furnace  heat  and 
sifted,  when  the  finest  quality  falls  into  one  box,  the 
coarser  into  another,  which  becomes  Pekoe,  the  next 
grade,  broken  Pekoe  and  Souchong;  afterwards, 
scraps,  dust,  and  scrapings  of  the  tea  fall  from  the 
sifter.  This  is  the  tea  which  is  considered  by  the 
first  planters  the  best  in  the  market,  and  is  always 
used  for  their  own  tea-drinking;  as  one  can  easily 
see,  it  must  be  the  very  smallest  and  most  delicate 


IN  A   SINGALESE   PARADISE.  63 

bud  which  passes  through  the  finest  grade  of  sifter. 
This  tea-dust  never  comes  to  America,  but  is  some- 
times sold  in  England  for  a  few  pence  a  pound.  The 
Ceylon  brand  is  a  cross  from  the  Assam  and  Chinese, 
and  has  become  the  latest  fad  in  Enc^land. 

Leaving  the  tea-house  after  having  a  cup  of  the 
most  delicious  tea  I  ever  tasted,  we  returned  through 
the  Peradeniya  garden,  which  lies  close  to  Kandy. 
Such  a  spot!  The  beauty  cannot  be  exaggerated, 
for  sun  and  soil  have  combined  to  make  this  garden 
the  most  luxuriant  in  the  world.  It  is  impossible  to 
enumerate  the  beautiful  and  rare  vegetation  which  it 
contains.  From  the  entrance  portals,  tall  and  mas- 
sive, and  covered  with  a  showery  curtain  of  un- 
familiar vines  and  creepers,  stretch  avenues  of 
tropical  palms  and  india-rubber-trees,  whose  enor- 
mous branches  interlace,  making  a  green  archway 
above  our  heads,  the  roots  spreading  out  like  giant 
blades  in  serpentine  coils  about  two  feet  high  above 
the  ground.  The  huge  bamboos  are  magnificent, 
their  trunks  quite  large  enough  to  make  a  fair-sized 
bucket;  and  by  the  riverside  the  culms  attain  a 
height  of  one  hundred  feet;  and  once  sprouted, 
sometimes  grow  several  inches  an  hour.  Here  are 
the  curious  banyan-trees,  whose  branches  span  the 
roadside,  and  taking  root  spring  up  in  great  luxuri- 
ance, so  as  to  outrival  the  parent  tree;  mangoes,  like 
spreading  oaks,  loaded  with  the  delicious  fruit;  the 


64  A    GIRVS   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

gamboge-tree  of  Ceylon,  which  contains  the  yellow 
color  in  its  sap  and  bears  fruit  golden  and  juicy;  and 
wild  banana-trees,  a  single  leaf  from  which  would 
clothe  a  man  from  head  to  foot.  In  fact,  the  garden, 
and  Kandy  itself,  are  a  sort  of  botanical  Noah's  Ark, 
where  every  plant  is  represented,  from  the  tall 
talipot-palm,  which  bears  majestic  flowers  once  in 
fifty  years  and  then  dies,  to  the  simple  white  jessa- 
mine of  our  Carolina  hedges.  Orchids  flutter  like 
bright-colored  birds  from  the  branches  of  the  tall 
trees,  and  the  air  is  oppressive  with  the  scent  of  a 
hundred  blossoms  of  the  garden  flowers.  These  are 
the  public  gardens  of  Ceylon,  and  are  kept  in  order 
by  the  government  officials. 

I  cannot  leave  this  garden  without  speaking  of  the 
palms.  Certainly,  the  great  feature  of  Peradeniya 
is  these  graceful  trees,  growing  in  thickets  and  masses 
on  every  side  whichever  way  you  turn,  and  I  should 
think  of  at  least  a  hundred  diff'erent  varieties  —  not 
the  fragile  nurslings  of  our  greenhouses,  with  their 
few  precious  leaves,  to  be  guarded  and  cared  for 
against  cold  or  change  of  temperature;  in  this 
country  palms  grow  as  they  might  have  grown  in 
the  garden  of  Eden,  their  massive  leaves  piled  one 
against  the  other  in  dense  profusion,  making  the 
graceful  shade  trees  so  often  spoken  of  in  Bible 
history.  You  could  wander  for  acres  and  acres 
among  the  acacias  and  mangoes,  but  you  can  never 


IN  A   SIXGALESE  PARADISE.  65 

get  away  from  the  palms  of  all  descriptions,  from  the 
giant  fig  to  the  Florida  palmetto.  After  seeing  the 
gardens,  there  can  no  longer  be  any  doubt  in  one's 
mind  that  Ceylon's  claim  to  be  the  home  of  the 
"grand  old  gardener  and  his  wife"  is  at  least  well 
founded,  for  certainly  here  *'  every  prospect  pleases," 
as  Bishop  Heber  says;  and  the  first  man  is,  was,  and 
ever  will  be,  according  to  the  English  residents' 
opinion  of  the  native  man,  "  vile." 

Nothing  is  more  surprising  on  a  first  visit  to  the 
East  than  to  see  how  little  confidence  Europeans  put 
in  the  natives,  and  how  extremely  they  dislike  to 
trust  them.  In  Ceylon,  it  seems  that  in  the  country 
the  fruit  would  be  much  improved  were  it  only  left. 
Now,  these  European  owners  of  banana-trees  cut  the 
fruit  green  and  house  it,  for  the  horticultural  natives 
would  certainly  steal  the  fruit  should  it  remain  on 
the  trees  to  ripen,  thereby  depriving  them  of  their 
income  for  a  whole  year.  Every  man  steals  from 
his  neighbor,  every  village  from  the  next,  and  every 
province  from  the  one  adjoining.  In  spite  of  this 
unfortunate  trait  in  their  characters,  the  natives  are 
undoubtedly  an  intelligent  people,  good-natured  and 
easy  to  influence ;  their  laziness  is  their  great  draw- 
back, but  that  can  be  readily  understood  and  con- 
doned after  even  a  few  wrecks'  acquaintance  with  the 
tropical  sun.  One  of  the  queer  customs  in  this 
country  is  that  there  is  no  hay  made  when  the  sun 

5 


66  A    GULL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

shines;  or,  in  fact,  at  any  other  time,  no  hay  and 
no  harvesting.  When  a  horse  is  to  be  fed,  a  native 
cooHe  goes  out  to  a  field  or  damp  open  place  and 
pulls  away  at  the  grass ;  in  fifteen  minutes  he  has 
picked  a  large  bunch  of  grass,  roots,  and  dirt,  which 
he  makes  up  into  a  little  bundle,  and  shaking  out  the 
loose  earth,  feeds  to  his  horses.  Paddy  and  gram 
form  the  oats  of  the  Singalese  horses.  Paddy  is  the 
island  name  for  rice,  which  grows  in  the  wet  terraces, 
and  is  almost  the  only  food  ever  seen  by  the  native 
population,  except  bananas,  the  natives'  bread,  the 
great  universal  staple,  from  the  little  thatched  hut  in 
the  jungle  to  the  governor's  palace. 

Kandy  is  situated  at  the  foot  of  a  circle  of  moun- 
tains, bathed  by  a  little  lake,  where  numerous  pago- 
das are  reflected  with  their  heavy  belt  of  palms.  At 
the  head  of  the  lake  stands  the  temple  of  the  Buddh- 
ist monks,  and  ever  since  I  have  been  here  I  have 
longed  to  visit  it.  To-night,  just  as  the  sun  was 
setting  blood-red  over  the  rosy  lake,  I  had  my  wished- 
for  experience.  You  have  only  to  walk  across  the 
bund,  and  you  are  there, — before  a  low^  turreted 
building,  gray  and  mossy,  surrounded  by  a  moat. 
This  temple  holds  the  precious  relic  of  Buddha's 
tooth,  and  is  the  most  sacred  shrine  of  Buddhism 
west  of  China.  At  the  head  of  the  marble  stairway 
sits  a  yellow  priest,  who  receives  annas  from  the 
faithful,  while  close  by  are  men  arranging  flowers  in 


IN  A   SINGALESE  rARADISE.  67 

baskets  and  bunches,  to  be  presented  to  the  idol.  I 
found  myself  in  a  crowd  of  natives,  of  all  types  and 
conditions,  waiting  for  the  hour  when  the  shrine 
would  be  open  for  the  adoration  of  the  people. 
Were  it  not  for  local  color,  one  could  easily  imagine 
oneself  before  some  Catholic  sanctuary  in  Italy  or 
France.  Buddha  having  left  no  doctrine  of  the  ex- 
istence of  God  or  of  the  soul,  his  disciples  exalted 
their  master  to  the  place  of  a  deity,  showing  that  the 
natural  instinct  to  worship  something  must  be  grati- 
fied, and  proving  the  truth  of  the  French  saying,  "  If 
there  were  no  God,  it  would  be  necessary  to  invent 
one."  Having  no  Supreme  Being  in  their  religion, 
there  is  no  need  of  a  priesthood,  —  the  intermediary 
between  God  and  man,  —  so  instead  of  the  priest 
they  have  the  monk.  At  six  o'clock  precisely,  ap- 
pears a  procession  of  men,  beating  tomtoms  and 
rattling  cymbals,  making  a  most  ferocious  racket, 
ushering  in  two  of  the  yellow  brethren,  who  open  the 
massive  carved  door  of  the  shrine,  flanked  by  two 
reclining  elephants ;  then,  after  unlocking  another 
silver  door,  enter  together  with  a  crowd  of  natives, 
who  press  forward  and  peer  through  the  bars  which 
separate  us  from  the  silver  table,  where,  under  a 
jewelled  bell,  shining  with  precious  stones,  is  the 
famous  relic.  You  are  dazzled  by  the  rubies,  sap- 
phires, and  true  oriental  cat's-eyes,  imbedded  in  the 
golden  covering.     The  tooth  itself  weVere  not  per- 


68  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

mitted  to  see  ;  but  we  were  told  that  it  was  of  such 
size  that  it  would  give  you  a  very  peculiar  impres- 
sion of  its  possessor,  if  it  is  not  indeed,  as  many 
people  think,  borrowed  from  the  mouth  of  a  tiger  or 
crocodile.  The  service  seemed  to  consist  in  offer- 
ings of  flowers, — the  sweet  blossoms  of  the  temple 
flower,  fragrant  jessamines,  and  tulip  buds.  These 
fragrant  gifts  are  cleared  away  every  morning  by 
attendant  priests  ;  but  so  faithful  are  the  votaries  to 
the  shrine,  that  the  place  is  never  free  from  the  sweet- 
scented  masses  of  blossoms  showered  there  in  reck- 
less profusion.  After  leaving,  we  peered  about  the 
marble  galleries  and  corridors  of  the  outer  temple, 
seeing  some  wonderful  carvings  and  grotesque 
paintings  of  the  Buddhist  Inferno.  The  difl"erent 
punishments  meted  out  to  bad  Buddhists  are  fres- 
coed In  bright  colors  on  the  walls,  as  if  fresh  from 
the  hand  of  the  Italian  artist  of  the  Campo  Santo  at 
Pisa.  For  instance,  the  native  who  has  offended  the 
law  in  taking  animal  life,  is  pictured  as  a  fish  being 
hooked  successively  by  gigantic  fish-hooks,  from 
each  of  which  he  releases  himself  only  to  fall  back 
on  a  greater  one.  The  intemperate  Buddhist  Is  most 
amusingly  represented  as  receiving  his  punishment 
in  a  more  cruel  manner  than  Tantalus  himself.  The 
fresco  shows  a  man  stretched  out  on  a  fiery  bed, 
while  an  imp  hovers  over  him  with  a  cooling  drink, 
just  out  of  reach  of  his  parched  lips.     Other  tortures 


IN  A   SINGALESE  PARADISE.  69 

are  more  cruelly  imagined  than  those  of  Greek 
mythology,  where  men  and  women  most  painfully 
ascend  ladders  of  swords,  and  so  on.  The  visit  that 
I  treasure  most  in  my  memory  was  to  an  upper 
room  of  the  temple,  which  is  used  by  the  Buddhists 
as  a  library.  Finding  several  priests  writing  in  the 
room,  we  hesitated  to  enter;  but  through  our  guide 
were  cordially  pressed  to  do  so  with  true  Eastern 
hospitality.  I  can  never  describe  the  impression 
made  by  these  Buddhist  monks,  so  calm  and  impas- 
sive, unearthlike  they  seem,  —  the  very  living  exam- 
ple of  the  lines  in  which  Edwin  Arnold  describes 
them,  in  the  "  Light  of  Asia."     "  Feeds  his  sense 

"  No  longer  on  false  shows,  files  his  firm  mind 
To  seek  not,  strive  not,  wrong  not ;  bearing  meek 
All  ills  which  flow  from  foregone  wrongfulness. 
And  so  constraining  passions  that  they  die." 

The  room  was  lined  with  cases  containing  books  in 
many  languages;  among  others,  well-known  English 
works  and  several  American  magazines,  which  they 
told  us  through  our  interpreter  were  immensely 
appreciated  by  the  brotherhood.  In  one  bookcase, 
behind  the  glass,  are  the  dried  leaves  which  Edwin 
Arnold  gathered  from  the  sacred  ground  at  Buddha 
Gya,  from  the  very  bo-tree  where  the  great  master 
accomplished  his  great  meditation.  These  were 
pointed  out  to  us  with  great  pride  by  the  Buddhists, 
who  afterwards  told  us  that  the  "Licrht  of  Asia  "  had 


70  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

been  translated  into  their  language,  and  is  consid- 
ered a  great  book  in  all  the  East.  This  gave  me  an 
idea  ;  and  I  immediately  despatched  a  little  native 
girl  to  the  temple  garden,  to  pick  some  leaves  from 
the  sacred  bo-tree,  on  which  I  reverently  asked  the 
high-priest  to  write  his  names  and  titles,  —  a  charm- 
ing souvenir  of  the  visit  to  the  Buddhist  sanctum. 

The  most  precious  possessions  in  the  library  were 
curious  books  of  their  ancient  religion,  written  on 
the  dry  leaves  of  the  talipot-palm,  and  bound 
together  with  silver  covers  exquisitely  wrought  and 
encrusted  with  costly  jewels.  I  should  not  think 
that  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  books  of  that 
great  library  would  be  consistent  with  the  Buddhist 
theory  of  life,  which  seems  to  consist  principally  in 
contemplating  oneself  and  seeking  charity.  The 
most  common  sight  in  Kandy  is  a  Buddhist  monk, 
standing  with  downcast  eyes  at  the  doorway  of  a 
native,  accompanied  by  a  little  novice,  who  carries 
his  umbrella.  A  wooden  bowl  is  hidden  under  the 
folds  of  his  gown,  to  be  replenished  with  the  food 
which  is  cooked  every  morning  and  set  apart  for 
the  use  of  the  priests,  who  are  forbidden  to  ask  for 
it,  but  go  silently  from  house  to  house,  often  wait- 
ing on  the  street  for  hours  before  they  are  observed 
and  the  food  doled  out  to  them. 

I  have  acquired  some  knowledge  of  the  duties 
and  curious  ceremonials  of  the  religieiix  from  a  re- 


IX  A   SINGALESE  PARADISE. 


71 


view  of  the  Buddhist  treatises  contained  in  the 
library  of  the  Secretary  of  State  for  India.  In  the 
Duhva,  or  DiscipHne,  are  set  forth  the  rules  of  life  of 
the  Indian  bJiiksJiu  and  bhikshicm,  —  the  male  and 
female  beggars  of  virtue.  Several  volumes  are  filled 
with  the  descriptions  of  the  offences  which  a  beg- 
gar may  commit,  and  with  commands  forbidding 
the  use  of  garlic,  and  giving  the  proper  style  of 
garment,  —  without  sleeves,  and  of  yellow  muslin. 
No  ordinance  exists  against  the  smaller  vanities. 
Rings  of  copper,  ivory,  or  brass  are  allowed ;  but 
gold  rings  are  tabooed,  which  suggest  that  the  rules 
are  aimed  principally  against  extravagance.  Ac- 
cording to  the  Duhva,  umbrellas  must  be  relegated 
to  a  dim  antiquity.  A  positive  direction  is  laid 
down,  which  allows  to  the  monks  two,  —  one  to 
guard  against  the  rain,  the  other  against  the  sun. 
A  German  writer  has  given  us  some  new  thoughts 
concerning  the  parallel  which  Sir  Edwin  Arnold 
attempts  to  draw  between  the  life  of  Christ  and 
the  career  of  Buddha.  He  makes  it  quite  clear  that 
there  is  no  analogy  in  the  leading  occurrences  of 
the  two  lives.  One  leads  an  active  life  of  practical 
charity ;  the  other,  an  inactive,  meditative  existence, 
—  doing  nothing  for  the  mere  temporal  relief  of  his 
fellow-creatures,  believing  all  earthly  comfort  and 
help  to  be  illusions.  The  date  of  Buddha's  career 
and    the   year   fixed    by   different   historians    of  his 


72  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

death  differ  as  widely  as  the  causes  assigned  to  his 
taking-off.  A  Thibetian  narrative  ascribes  his  de- 
cease to  a  spinal  malady,  but  the  Singalese  disciples 
believe  he  died  from  making  an  excessive  meal  of 
pork. 

Colombo,  January  5. 

In  Colombo  once  more.  It  is  like  coming  home. 
Our  old  friends,  the  Mahometan  shopkeepers,  in- 
vite us  in  by  name  when  we  pass  their  shops.  The 
jinrikisha  coolies  crowd  around  with  their  funny 
little  conveyances,  which  look  like  overgrown  baby- 
carriages,  ready  to  carry  us  in  any  direction  for  the 
very  moderate  compensation  of  half  a  rupee  (twenty 
cents)  per  hour;   or  we  might  choose  a  bullock-cart, 

—  one  bullock,  ten  cents  an  hour;  while  still  another 
vehicle   awaits   our  pleasure,  a  Singalese   palanquin, 

—  an  open  coach,  with  turbaned  outriders  and  the 
usual  barefooted  runners  who  clear  the  way.  In- 
deed, I  have  scarcely  seen  a  shoe  or  stocking  in 
Ceylon.  We  have  had  a  long  shore  breeze  to-day, 
enchanting  enough  if  one  could  only  enjoy  it;  but 
five  minutes'  exposure  to  this  fatal  wind  would  have 
an  almost  disastrous  effect.  These  are  the  fascina- 
ting hours,  between  five  and  six,  when  all  Ceylon 
takes  itself  off  to  Galle  Face,  to  enjoy  the  refreshing 
glimpse  of  the  ocean ;  and  we  also  decide  to  walk  out 
on  this  glorious  promenade,  and  take  one  last  view 
of  the  dear  Indian   Ocean.     We  meet  many  gayly- 


IN  A   SINGALESE   PARADISE.  73 

painted  palanquins,  and  catch  glimpses  of  the  wives 
of  the  native  grandees  inside,  who  wear  low-necked 
gowns,  driving  or  walking,  —  a  very  sensible  custom 
in  this  climate,  for  the  thermometer  in  Ceylon  aver- 
ages about  seventy-six  the  year  round ;  the  hot 
season  being  January,  February,  and  March,  which 
is  just  the  reverse  of  what  we  are  accustomed  to 
expect.  Distant  only  three  and  a  half  degrees  from 
the  equator,  the  days  and  nights  are  almost  of  equal 
length,  and  night  falls  with  scarcely  a  warning,  like 
a  great  black  curtain  rung  down  on  a  scene  in  the 
theatre,  and  the  stars  come  out  bright,  and  shine 
as  they  only  can  in  the  clear  Eastern  atmosphere. 
From  Galle  Face  the  sea  breaks  for  miles  on  the 
coral  reefs,  the  foam  is  tossed  off  of  emerald  waves 
for  miles  on  the  red  sand  of  the  beach.  The  sky 
takes  that  peculiar  amber  hue  which  comes  before 
a  fine  sunset,  and  the  sun  itself  spreads  long  part- 
ing flashes  of  golden  light  over  earth  and  sea  ;  and 
over  all  the  spell,  the  glow  of  the  coming  Indian 
night. 


74  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

BOMBAY. 

Indian  Ocean,  en  route  for  Bombay. 
P.  and  O.  Steamer  "Thames,"  January  ii. 

"V  X  7E  are  still  in  the  tropics,  but  the  sea-air  is 
^  ^  refreshing  after  the  glare  of  sand  and  torrid 
heat  in  Ceylon.  The  water  is  smooth,  and  does  not 
by  any  means  show  its  stormy  character.  We  are 
skirting  close  to  the  Western  Ghauts,  low,  brown 
and  yellowish  in  color,  and  dotted  with  stubby  green 
trees.  These  Ghauts  form  a  natural  wall  of  defence 
running  along  the  entire  coast  from  Bombay  to  Cape 
Comorin;  and  we  keep  them  well  in  sight  from 
the  long,  low  sea-chairs,  drawn  close  to  the  water- 
side under  the  awning,  where  we  spend  our  days. 
The  passengers  are  the  usual  English  officers,  with 
a  sprinkling  of  tourists.  Far  more  interesting  are 
the  Orientals,  in  the  second  cabin,  the  dark  Afri- 
cans, or  Bombay  merchants,  draped  in  thin  white 
muslin  and  high  turbans :  there  are  also  several 
Parsee  men  and  women  on  board,  who  occupy  one 
side  of  the  forward  deck,  and  are  left  quite  to  them- 
selves by  general  consent.     They   bring   their   own 


BOMBAY.  75 

servants  and  provisions  ;  and  as  you  make  a  circuit 
of  the  ship,  you  are  sure  to  catch  a  whiff  of  disa- 
greeable odors,  which  makes  you  turn  quickly  from 
their  vicinity.  Here  they  sit  all  day,  huddled  to- 
gether among  smoking  dishes  of  unsavory  food,  or 
asleep  on  rugs  in  the  midst  of  cackling  chickens 
and  bleating  sheep,  which  their  cooks  will  prepare 
for  the  next  day's  meal.  The  Parsee  women  are  as 
small  and  dainty  as  the  Chinese,  and  wear  loose, 
bright-green  and  gold  saris}  draped  to  cover  them 
from  the  head  to  the  little  feet  in  one  single  piece. 

We  land  at  five  o'clock  to-day.  A  httle  tug 
steams  up  the  great  harbor,  through  lines  of  war- 
ships and  merchant-vessels  of  all  nations,  landing 
our  passengers  and  the  royal  mail  at  the  Apollo 
Bunder ;  the  voyage  has  been  so  smooth  that  it 
scarcely  seems  that  we  have  changed  one  element 
for  another.  We  take  a  gharri  to  the  Esplanade 
Hotel,  —  a  high  brown  caravansary,  with  many  ve- 
randas, looking  across  the  large  open  square  en- 
circled by  great  public  buildings  and  government 
offices,  which  remind  you  very  much  of  an  English 
city.  The  streets  are  irregular,  but  of  splendid 
dimensions,  bordered  with  tall  houses,  each  one 
differing  from  the  other  in  style  and  color,  the 
ground-floor  forming  the  shops,  in  which  one 
may  find  specimens  of  every  style  of  merchandise 
1  Sa7'i,  a  sheet-like,  native  drapery,  of  silk  or  muslin. 


'jS  A    GIRVS  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

in  the  East.  The  busy  life,  however,  of  the  busi- 
est city  at  home  can  scarcely  imitate  the  turbulent 
waves  of  various  nationalities,  the  bustling  crowds 
of  this  Oriental  city.  Through  these  streets  sweep 
a  variety  of  types  and  races,  which  outrival  in 
color  and  brilliancy  anything  of  the  kind  in  the 
East.  Here  and  there,  a  European  in  civilized 
clothes  may  be  seen,  who  soon  disappears  in  the 
ocean  of  color,  which  seems  as  if  the  kaleidoscope 
had  been  broken  by  some  giant  hand,  and  the 
colors  scattered  over  everything.  There  are  as 
many  shades  of  color  in  complexion  as  in  cos- 
tume, —  Mahometans,  with  enormous  turbans  of 
green  or  white,  and  long  beards  dyed  a  brilliant 
red,  as  a  proof  that  they  have  made  the  pilgrimage 
to  Mecca ;  rich  Chinese,  in  gorgeously  embroidered 
pantaloons  and  long  black  cues,  with  silk  vests  under 
white  silk  redingotes,  their  pleated  umbrellas  inevi- 
tably raised  above  the  head ;  Parsees,  all  in  white, 
with  high,  funnel-shaped  hats,  spangled  with  black 
and  gold,  which  recede  in  the  back,  forming  a  sort 
of  hollow,  in  which  is  placed  an  indoor  cap  of  velvet 
or  satin.  Above  this  throng,  a  Yogi  stands  rigid  on 
the  steps  of  the  Hindu  temple,  gaunt,  thin,  and 
immovable, — his  stiffened  limbs,  thin,  naked,  and 
covered  with  ashes;  his  long  hair,  matted  together 
with  ropes,  hangs  straight  to  his  waist.  Long  jungle- 
hardships  have  so  weakened  the  intellect,  torture,  suf- 


BOMB  A  V.  J  J 

fering,  and  penance  have  so  long  been  his  fate,  that 
I  think  this  would-be  holy  man  is  almost  an  imbe- 
cile; but  so  worshipped  and  reverenced  by  the  Hin- 
dus that  they  crowd  about  him  to  mark  their  faces 
with  the  ashes  which  cover  his  flesh,  with  as  much 
devotion  as  the  penitents  of  Ash-Wednesday  in  Cath- 
olic countries. 

The  native  dwellings  are  in  separate  parts  of  the 
town.  The  Mahometan  quarter  is  quite  distinct 
from  the  Hindu,  as  the  latter  is  from  the  Parsee. 
All  that  part  of  Bombay  bordering  on  the  water  is 
called  The  Fort,  where  are  situated  public  edifices, 
government  offices,  the  cottages  and  churches  —  not 
differing  very  greatly  from  any  other  finely  laid  out 
city.  At  one  extremity  rises  a  wooded  hill,  and 
here  are  the  bungalows  of  nearly  all  of  the  of- 
ficial population.  Here  too  are  the  flower-terraced 
gardens  of  the  Parsees,  that  strange  Eastern  sect 
of  fire-worshippers,  who  came  hither  many  years 
ago   from   Persia. 

The  Parsees  are  the  Jews  of  Bombay,  its  richest 
merchants,  its  greatest  bankers,  most  honored  citi- 
zens. Like  the  Hebrews,  they  are  generous  and 
charitable,  and  a  beggar  among  them  is  entirely 
unknown.  Many  of  them  have  amassed  colossal 
fortunes ;  and,  it  must  be  confessed,  have  employed 
them  to  the  benefit  of  the  entire  population  of 
Bombay,  —  Hindus  and   Europeans,  as  well  as  their 


yS  A    GIRVS  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

own  people.  Several  Parsees  have  been  knighted 
as  a  reward  for  their  immense  charity.  Sir  Jamsetji 
Jijibhoi  is  called  the  benefactor  of  his  people,  his 
charities  amounting  to  thousands  of  rupees,  — 
having  built  a  hospital,  museums,  roads,  and  en- 
dowed colleges,  etc.,  during  the  last  fifteen  years. 
The  Parsees  are  immensely  patriotic,  are  considered 
the  best  subjects  that  Queen  Victoria  has  in  India, 
and  many  have  passed  through  Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge in  as  good  shape  as  the  native-born  Eng- 
lishmen. They  worship  fire  in  their  temples,  and 
are  said  to  keep  the  flame  alive  by  constantly  sup- 
plying it  with  precious  essences.  We  were  not 
allowed  to  enter  their  temples,  which  are  never  pro- 
faned by  unbelieving  travellers,  it  being  almost  an 
impossibility  to  procure  a  permit.  The  Zoroastrians 
never  smoke,  because  it  would  be  such  utter 
wickedness  to  put  out  the  fire  of  even  the  small- 
est cigarette ;  and  they  employ  special  Hindu  ser- 
vants to  extinguish  the  lamps  in  their  houses. 
They  also  reverence  greatly  all  the  elements,  but, 
above  all,  the  sun;  although  I  fancy  a  Parsee 
graduate  of  Oxford  would  be  highly  indignant 
at  being  dubbed  a  sun-worshipper :  still  he  would 
probably  admit  that  his  Bombay  brothers  adore 
the  sun  in  their  prayers  as  being  the  highest  man- 
ifestation of  the  greatness  of  the  Supreme  God 
visible  to  our  human  sight. 


BOMB  A  Y.  79 

In  the  afternoons  the  drives  on  Malabar  Mill  are 
lined  with  Europeans  and  natives  walking,  driving, 
and  sitting  about  the  gardens  of  roses  under  the 
high,  flowering  trees,  which  border  the  roadway,  and 
overlook  the  great  stretch  of  sea,  and  the  sunlit 
waters  of  the  beautiful  Bay  of  Bombay.  The  resi- 
dents drive  in  beautiful  carriages,  with  footmen  in 
gorgeous  Eastern  liveries  ;  and  we  add  our  due  share 
of  color  to  the  scene  with  a  luxurious  open  barouche, 
two  men  on  the  box  in  green  turbans,  —  fifty  yards 
of  fine  silk  in  each,  —  white  jackets,  and  trousers  to 
the  bare  knee,  black  legs  and  feet,  gold  and  green 
sashes  about  their  waists,  and  two  more  of  these 
extraordinary  natives  standing  behind  and  continu- 
ally dismounting  to  clear  the  way  for  our  carriage 
to  pass.  Lord  Harris,  the  governor  of  Bombay, 
and  many  others,  dash  by  us  in  similar  carriages, 
with  postilions  gorgeously  arrayed  in  red  and  gold 
silk  turbans,  brilliant  coats  covered  with  tinsel,  and 
sashes  of  gold  lace,  and,  honesty  bids  me  say,  minus 
the  stocking  and  shoe,  their  brown  legs  contrasting 
curiously  with  the  bright  red  and  gold  of  the  livery. 
The  feature  of  this  scene,  the  dazzling  Eastern  part 
of  it,  is  when  the  sun  is  sinking  in  tropical  splendor 
far  out  over  the  golden  path  it  makes  from  land  to 
sea.  Then  the  Parsee  women  alight  from  their  car- 
riages, and  in  their  saris  of  pale  lemon,  rosy  pink, 
and  faintest  green,  group  about  the  palm-trees,  and 


80  A    G2RrS  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

lifting  up  their  hands,  say  their  evening  prayer  to 
the  setting  sun,  looking  like  a  rainbow  broken  up  in 
rays  of  color  all  over  the  palmy  paths  and  ferny 
nooks  of  the  hillside.  Farther  down  toward  the 
water's  edcre  stand  some  venerable  Parsees,  with 
hands  open  before  their  faces,  and  heads  bowed 
down  even  to  the  earth,  repeating  in  the  unknown 
language  of  the  Zend  Avesta  the  prayer  of  adora- 
tion, —  the  vesper  hymn  to  the  ''  Light  that  lighteth 
every  man." 

Before  we  leave  Malabar  Hill,  scarcely  a  mile 
from  the  gay  scene  of  the  pleasure-loving  people, 
the  drive  continues  toward  the  Parsee  place  of  sep- 
ulchre. Passing  through  the  bordered  driveway,  we 
reach  in  half  an  hour  two  yellow-and-white  gates, 
and  are  within  the  grounds  of  the  "  Towers  of  Si- 
lence." At  the  end  of  a  flight  of  granite  steps 
stretch  acres  of  trees,  flowers,  and  clusters  of  the 
climbing  purple  Borgan  Villia  in  bright  branches 
over  the  fresh  young  grass.  The  Parsees  have  sur- 
rounded this  grewsome  abode  of  death  with  every 
charm  of  natural  beauty,  to  dispel  as  far  as  possible 
the  gloomy  impression  made  by  this  manner  of  dis- 
posing of  their  dead.  A  peculiarity  of  this  religion 
is,  that  they  never  burn  or  bury  their  dead,  but  trans- 
port them  to  this  place  after  death,  stretched  on  iron 
slats  and  covered  with  white.  Half  hidden  in  differ- 
ent places  among  the  trees  you  find  the  five  white 


BOMB  A  V.  8 1 

circular  towers,  and  from  the  flowery  terraces  where 
we  stand  we  can  see  the  vultures  perched  in  the 
turrets  as  thick  as  they  can  crowd  together.  Other 
cadaverous  birds  hover  about  the  trees  near  by,  and 
suddenly  swoop  down  towards  the  towers  ;  for  they 
have  scented  a  funeral  approaching.  From  our 
place  we  see  four  priestly  men,  in  loose  white  gowns 
and  tall  white  Parsee  hats,  winding  down  the  path. 
They  carry  a  white-covered  form,  stretched  on  an 
iron  rack ;  next,  two  men  appear,  —  they  are  the 
mourners,  —  and  then  two  more,  all  in  the  white 
loose  gowns  and  white  sashes,  each  couple  carrying 
between  them  a  handkerchief,  —  symbol  of  sympathy. 
About  thirty  yards  from  the  tower  they  stop.  The 
priests  advance  alone  up  an  incline,  open  a  door, 
and  place  the  form  of  the  dead  one  on  the  iron 
vaulting  inside  ;  when  in  a  moment  more  the  vul- 
tures descend,  and  in  a  half-hour  nothing  remains 
but  the  bare  skeleton :  another  forty-eight  hours, 
and  the  priests  enter  again,  and  by  their  sacred 
hands  alone  the  bones  are  gathered  up  and  placed 
in  a  well  in  the  centre  of  the  tower.  This  well 
is  intended  to  hold  the  remains  until  they  return 
to  the  dust  and  are  led  through  a  filter  of  stones 
to  the  earth.  In  this  way  the  elements  are  never 
polluted,  which  would  be  a  high  sin  in  their  eyes. 
No  Parsee  woman  ever  goes  to  the  burial-place  until 
her  last  journey.     The  funeral  procession  is  formed 

6 


S2  A    GIRL'S  WINTER   IN  INDIA. 

solely  of  the  men,  and  is  always  taken  on  foot. 
After  the  ceremony,  and  before  leaving;  the  grounds, 
every  vestige  of  clothing  worn  at  the  burial  is 
washed,  and  the  mourners  bathe  in  a  large  tank, 
replacing  their  funeral  clothes  of  white  by  their 
ordinary  garments.  Even  the  priests  bathe  and  re- 
move their  clothes  before  officiating  at  another 
ceremony,  should  it  take  place  the  next  hour.  An 
enchanting  drive  home,  but  the  gloom  of  this  terri- 
ble place  is  not  easily  dispelled. 

At  the  commencement  of  January  the  tempera- 
ture of  Bombay  mounts  quite  high  enough  to  unfit 
a  traveller  to  enjoy  sight-seeing,  but  does  not  seem 
to  unfit  the  residents  from  enjoying  an  immense 
amount  of  gayety.  Tuesday  evening  we  dined  with 
an  American  friend  at  the  Royal  Yacht  Club,  and 
after  dinner  had  an  opportunity  of  attending  a  ball. 
The  yacht  club  is  charmingly  situated  on  the  bay. 
The  green  lawns  in  front  of  the  buildings  extend 
to  the  very  borders  of  the  ocean,  where  the  fleet  of 
boats  are  at  anchor.  The  ball  began  at  ten,  and 
only  ended  in  the  morning  hours.  The  company 
were  principally  Europeans  in  uniforms,  with  their 
W4ves  and  daughters  in  French  ball-dresses,  who 
danced  with  all  the  vivacity  possible.  It  only  takes 
a  few  years  of  this  trying  climate,  however,  to 
change  the  ruddiest  English  beauty  into  a  pale- 
complexioned  Anglo-Indian.     There  was  scarcely  a 


BOMBAY.  83 

woman  present  who  had  the  shghtest  claim  to  good 
looks.  From  the  governor  down  to  the  lowest 
commissioned  officer,  they  strive  to  drown  their 
heimwek  (homesickness),  —  to  forget  themselves  in 
an  incessant  whirl  of  pleasure. 

The  suburbs  of  Bombay  are  lovely.  Byculla  is 
one,  and  also  Matheran,  which  is  situated  a  few- 
hours  from  the  capital,  so  that  it  can  scarcely  be 
called  a  suburb,  but  is  a  great  resort  for  the  people 
of  Bombay  in  the  hot  season.  That  it  is  popular 
among  other  tribes  than  Europeans,  I  am  no  longer 
in  any  doubt,  from  the  following,  taken  from  a 
Bombay  newspaper. 

"  Courting  at  Matheran.  —  A  correspondent  writing  to 
a  Bombay  contemporary  says  :  *  Matheran  is  supposed  to 
swarm  with  honeymooning  couples  ;  but  we  never  could  find 
any,  though  we  looked  for  a  little  amusement  in  this  way, 
and  we  began  to  think  that  in  this  respect  also,  Matheran 
was  a  delusion  and  a  snare.  But  at  last  we  found  an  ideal 
pair.  They  had  apparently  been  having  a  little  quarrel,  —  or, 
perhaps,  only  a  misunderstanding.  Edwin  was  at  some  dis- 
tance from  Angelina,  regarding  her  moodily,  while  she  was 
pensively  surveying  the  scenery.  Both  seemed  as  if  they 
would  make  it  up,  but  each  was  too  proud  to  take  the  initia- 
tive. We  watched  them  attentively.  At  last  Edwin  evi- 
dently came  to  the  conclusion  that  things  had  gone  far 
enough  ;  and  he  edged  gently  towards  his  better  half,  while 
Angelina  had  her  eye  upon  him,  though  she  coyly  pretended 
not  to  see  him.  It  was  really  as  good  as  a  play.  Finally, 
Edwin  stood  quite  close  beside  Angelina,  and  put  his  hand 


84  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

on  her  shoulder.  Then  her  pride  gave  way,  and  she  turned 
round,  and  they  gave  each  other  such  a  hug  that  it  was  most 
touching  to  see  them.  Suddenly  something  startled  them, 
and  with  a  bound  they  were  on  the  top  of  a  tree  chattering 
profusely.  They  were  the  finest  pair  of  Matheran  apes  that 
we  saw  on  the  hill.  Anything  more  human  could  not  have 
been  imagined.  We  no  longer  doubt  the  truth  of  Darwin's 
theory.'  " 

I  have  had  many  pleasant  entertainments  in  my 
life,  but  never  a  pleasanter  one  than  on  the  after- 
noon I  spent  with  Mrs.  H.,  of  the  Presbyterian  Mis- 
sion at  Bombay,  among  her  own  little  Hindu  and 
Mahometan  school  children,  who  had  Invited  us  to 
a  native  feast.  I  never  saw  children  so  happy  and 
bright  as  these  little  women ;  they  laughed  and  chat- 
tered together  like  so  many  magpies.  All  the  little 
girls  wore  the  Indian  sari,  —  about  nine  yards  of 
bright  cotton  cloth,  pleated  about  the  waist,  with 
one  end  thrown  over  the  shoulder  and  head.  This 
was  a  great  fete-day ;  and  the  little  women  had  been 
impatiently  looking  forward  to  it  as  the  one  fixed 
to  receive  the  contents  of  boxes  sent  from  America 
to  the  mission  children,  which  did  not  come  on 
Christmas,  and  so  were  to  be  distributed  on  this 
day,  —  the  end  of  the  school  year.  About  fifty  little 
women  were  learning  wisdom  in  Mrs.  H.'s  mission 
school.  The  gray  stone  building  was  opened  on 
all  sides  by  arches,  to  let  in  the  sweet  air  from  the 


KOOLIN    BRAHMINS. 


BOMB  A  Y.  85 

gardens ;  and  as  we  entered,  the  little  girls  all  rose 
at  the  same  time,  pointed  their  pretty  hands  before 
their  faces,  bent  low,  and  called  sweetly  to  us,  Na- 
mouska,  —  greeting.  B.  and  I  were  made  proud  and 
happy  by  being  accommodated  with  scats  at  the 
head  of  the  room  with  Mrs.  H.  and  other  friends, 
and  exactly  opposite  to  us  were  lifted  the  expectant 
faces.  Some  of  the  little  girls  are  not  more  than 
three  or  four  years  old;  and  yet,  according  to  native 
custom,  they  are  already  betrothed,  and  wear  nose- 
rings of  gold,  and  ear-rings  of  precious  stones  looped 
in  heavy  circles  around  the  entire  rim  of  the  ear, 
and  their  feet  are  loaded  with  bangles.  Many  have 
anklets  of  silver  balls,  which  are  perfect  torture 
to  their  possessor.  Grave  and  learned  pundits  are 
engaged  in  grafting  English  and  Sanscrit,  besides 
various  other  roots  and  branches,  on  the  minds  of 
the  children,  which  seems  a  very  rational  employ- 
ment in  this  country  of  premature  intelligence  and 
industry. 

What  an  inevitable  destroyer  of  caste  is  a  native 
school !  Mrs.  H.  points  out  to  us  a  Coolin  Brahmin 
girl,  who  is  sitting  next  a  low-caste  Banniah,  in  utter 
disregard  of  the  iron  laws  of  the  Brahmins.  After 
a  great  struggle,  Mrs.  H.  has  taught  the  natives  to 
sing  hymns  in  English.  Their  idea  of  music  differs 
from  ours  in  many  ways.  There  is  no  second  part 
in  their  songs,  which  consist  in  reality  of  a  few  notes. 


86  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

sung  in  monotonous  time  and  measure.  When  the 
hymns  were  ended,  each  Httle  one  came  up  with 
great  gravity  of  expression  when  her  name  was  called, 
to  receive  a  gift,  returning  to  her  bench  with  beaming 
eyes,  hugging  to  her  heart  the  staring,  blue-eyed,  tow- 
haired  dolly,  as  great  a  contrast  as  possible  to  the 
h'ttle  dark-skinned  child.  The  festival  over,  we  drove 
to  a  large  columned  bungalow  near  by,  surrounded 
by  beautiful  mango-trees,  which  is  the  latest  pur- 
chase of  the  Mission  Board.  About  thirty  girls  live 
here  in  native  fashion  quite  by  themselves ;  and  here 
the  feast  was  to  take  place.  On  the  gray  stone  floor 
of  the  principal  room.  Arabesque  lines  were  chalked 
in  colors,  which  served  to  designate  the  place  of  each 
guest;  and  before  these  squares  were  placed  a  fresh 
banana  leaf  and  a  brass  drinking-cup,  the  only  table 
service  that  we  could   discover. 

But  first  I  must  tell  you  that  there  were  no  chairs 
or  benches,  and  no  choice  was  left  us  but  to  squat  on 
our  heels  in  the  native  fashion.  It  was  hard  to  be  dig- 
nified on  this  occasion  and  in  this  position,  and  we 
rolled  over  on  our  backs  several  times  in  our  efforts 
to  keep  our  bodies  upright.  The  little  Hindus  were 
convulsed,  but  politely  concealed  their  amusement; 
no  doubt,  however,  they  were  laughing  at  us  in  their 
sleeves.  On  the  banana  leaf  were  spread  little  heaps 
of  different  vegetables,  cooked  with  spices  and  chut- 
neys    and    chillies    and    peppers.      A    banana    stew 


BOMBAY.  Sy 

looked  at  least  tempting  before  we  tasted  it,  but  it 
was  cooked  with  so  much  red  pepper  that  we  could 
scarcely  swallow  it.  There  were  no  forks,  knives,  or 
spoons ;  and  nothing  would  do  but  we  must  manage 
to  partake  of  the  food  with  our  fingers  in  the  native 
manner.  Of  course  we  failed.  The  little  Hindus  sim- 
ply beamed  with  delight,  and  offered  to  show  us  how 
easily  they  could  do  it,  —  by  just  pressing  the  food  in 
a  little  ball  with  two  fingers,  and  with  the  other  three 
sweep  up  the  sauce  which  covers  the  leaf,  and  grace- 
fully convey  it  to  their  mouths,  without  spilling  a 
single  drop  and  scarcely  soiling  their  fingers.  They 
were  delighted  to  hover  about  and  wait  on  us,  but 
would  have  broken  caste  had  they  eaten  even  the 
smallest  grain  of  rice. 

The  banana  leaf  is  used  instead  of  crockery,  ac- 
cording to  the  Hindu  idea  of  cleanliness,  as  it  can 
be  destroyed  every  morning,  and  never  used  a  second 
time.  The  cooking  utensils  are  all  of  brass,  scoured 
and  cleaned  to  a  point  never  reached  by  civilized 
people.  Xo  glass  or  china  is  ever  used ;  the  drinking- 
cups  and  platters,  which  cost  almost  nothing,  and 
eliminate  the  item  of  breakage  in  household  expen- 
ditures, serve  for  general  family  use. 

After  the  feast,  we  all  had  seats  in  the  big  square 
court  of  the  house,  and  the  children  played  for  us 
their  native  games.  Anything  more  graceful  cannot 
be  imagined,  and  the  amount  of  spirit  they  put  into 


88  A    GIRVS   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

these  fantastic  romps  outrivals  anything  I  ever  knew. 
A  favorite  amusement  is  the  childish  play  of  choos- 
ing a  bride,  — a  real  imitation  of  the  ceremony  as  it 
is  done  in  the  East.  A  party  of  the  older  girls  ad- 
vance up  the  room,  with  the  little  bride  that  is  to  be, 
hidden  behind  their  draperies.  These  represent  the 
bride's  relatives,  and  they  are  taking  the  little  baby- 
girl  to  the  house  of  the  bridegroom.  The  bride- 
groom's friends  are  represented  by  taller  girls,  drawn 
up  in  line  to  receive  them.  As  the  bride's  little  party 
approach,  they  all  sing  the  praises  of  their  child  in 
the  flowery  speech  of  the  Orient.  The  rhyming 
words  fall  softly  from  sweet  lips,  and  the  eyes  beam 
with  laughter  and  fun.  What  they  chant  is  some- 
thing like  this :  "  This  is  our  daughter,  the  fairest 
among  women,  the  pearl  of  the  East;  the  lotus-eyed, 
the  pride,  the  jewel  of  our  life."  At  the  end  of  this 
song,  the  bridegroom's  friends  answer  in  their  turn: 
"  Our  boy  is  as  glorious  as  the  sun  at  evening,  as 
brave  as  a  rajput,  as  wise  as  a  serpent."  When  they 
pause,  it  is  the  turn  of  the  bride's  relatives,  who  de- 
scribe in  still  more  glowing  language  the  perfection 
and  fascinations  of  their  little  one.  This  is  answered 
again  by  the  other  side,  who  chant  the  praises  of  the 
bridegroom :  *'  The  son  of  a  rajah,  the  possessor  of 
herds  and  fine  houses  and  lands,  the  joy  of  the 
household,  the  pride  of  his  line."  This  exhausted, 
the  two  families  come  down  to  business.    The  bride's 


BOMB  A  V.  89 

friends  say,  '*  Well,  how  much  will  you  offer  for  this 
girl?  "  and  if  the  groom's  attendants  do  not  put  down 
sufficient  inducement,  or  raise  from  their  first  offer 
to  suit  the  demands  of  the  girl's  friends,  the  trans- 
action is  incomplete,  and  the  little  bride  returns.  All 
this  time  she  has  not  been  seen  by  the  bridegroom's 
party,  who  are  puzzled  on  these  occasions  to  know 
just  how  far  to  trust  the  praises  bestowed  on  her. 
After  this  follows  a  general  frolic,  where  the  chil- 
dren float  and  flutter,  holding  one  another  by  the 
hand,  whizzing  through  the  air  like  small  human 
tops,  faster  and  faster  still,  until  your  eye  can  scarcely 
follow  their  graceful  motions. 

Later  on,  we  went  into  the  gardens  to  visit  other 
buildings,  where  the  girls  cook  for  themselves,  grind 
daily  the  corn  used  by  the  mission  household  at  a 
stone  mill,  where  they  sit  and  sing  and  work  for 
hours.  Then  we  were  shown  the  sleeping  apart- 
ment, a  long  stone  room,  uncarpeted,  and  without 
an  article  of  furniture.  The  only  bed  was  a  bam- 
boo mat,  placed  by  the  side  of  the  wall,  with  a  gray 
woollen  blanket  rolled  at  the  foot.  Thirty  of  these 
rolls  are  placed  in  rows  down  the  room.  The  girls 
in  the  mission  school  have  no  pillows,  no  sheets, 
nor  anything  more  comfortable  than  this  native  bed. 
They  have  only  had  blankets  since  Christmas,  when 
a  small  donation  which  came  from  America  was  ap- 
propriated by  Mrs.  H.  to  buy  them.     There  arc  no 


90  A    GIRVS   WINl'ER  IN  INDIA. 

closets  for  the  wardrobes,  but  very  recently  wooden 
chests  have  been  given  them.  Before  this,  they 
possessed  no  receptacle  for  clothing  of  any  sort. 

Indian  twilights  are  short.  It  is  growing  dark,  and 
we  must  leave  Byculla  and  the  mission,  returning 
through  three  miles  of  lighted  streets  to  our  hotel. 
No  one  must  fail  to  visit  the  curious  animal  hospital 
in  Bombay,  which  has  grown  out  of  the  religious 
veneration  of  animal  life.  I  do  not  think  one  could 
form  any  idea  before  visiting  the  place  just  what  an 
animal  hospital  would  be  like.  This  one,  at  least,  is 
not  like  anything  else  in  the  world.  Stopping  before 
a  gateway,  we  leave  our  horses  to  munch  the  fresh 
grass  and  corn-leaves,  which  the  Hindu  doorkeeper 
offers ;  and  passing  through  the  doorway,  w^e  find 
ourselves  in  the  wards,  which  cover  acres  of  ground, 
tenanted  by  sick  animals,  including  every  species 
from  a  cat  to  a  camel.  What  a  curious  sight  it  is !  — 
the  cattle  with  every  form  of  disease,  some  lying  and 
some  standing  about  the  open  wards,  which  form  four 
sides  of  an  open  courtway.  Farther  on  are  the  lame, 
halt,  and  blind  of  the  poultry-yard ;  chickens,  with 
one  wing  disabled,  vanquished  in  a  barnyard  quarrel; 
pariah  puppies,  that  had  been  picked  up  in  the 
street  in  all  stages  of  starvation  or  degradation ;  all 
manner  of  quadrupeds,  some  now  on  three  legs,  and 
others  unable  to  stand  at  all ;  flocks  of  monkeys,  who 
affect  a  sudden  terror  at  your  approach ;   and  cages 


A    MISSION-SCHOOL    GIRL. 


BOMBAY.  91 

of  pigeons,  parrots,  and  ailing  birds  of  every  de- 
scription. All  this  is  supported  by  the  voluntary 
offerings  of  the  Hindus,  whose  physicians  make 
regular  visits  to  the  patients  every  morning.  It  is 
considered  the  greatest  act  of  merit  to  leave  a  be- 
quest to  the  animal  hospital,  which  has  become  im- 
mensely rich  from  the  thank-offerings  of  grateful 
Hindus.  Our  examination  of  the  sick  w^ards  was  far 
from  microscopic,  and  it  was  necessary  to  summon 
all  our  courage  to  go  as  far  as  we  did.  The  air  you 
breathe  at  the  hospital  is  foul  to  a  degree  which 
would  make  an  abattoir  seem  pure  by  contrast.  In 
fact,  I  think  one  is  apt  to  sentimentalize  too  much 
over  the  Hindu  hospital.  It  is  a  question  w^hether 
it  would  not  be  much  more  merciful  to  the  animals 
to  despatch  them  at  once  rather  than  to  keep  them 
lingering  on  in  a  disabled,  unhappy  condition,  when 
in  most  cases  a  cure  is  impossible. 

The  Hindus,  of  course,  never  eat  animal  food. 
To  do  this  would  be  to  go  against  their  religion 
and  their  conscience,  for  in  another  life  their  re- 
spected grandfather  may  have  become  a  plump 
duck  or  a  tender  chicken,  which  w^ould  make 
things  very  awkward.  In  one  of  the  Indian 
provinces,  near  the  Bombay  Presidency,  it  is  im- 
possible for  Europeans  to  buy  lamb.  The  rajah's 
father  died,  and  the  Hindu  high-caste  Brahmin, 
whom  the  prince  consulted,  told  him  that  his  father 


92  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

had  become  a  sheep  after  his  soul  had  passed 
to  the  land  of  the  dead.  At  once,  the  rajah  sent 
forth  an  edict  to  the  Europeans  and  Mahometans, 
which  forbade  the  killing  of  the  lambs  of  the  flock 
forever. 

One  must  be  off  early  in  the  morning  if  one 
wishes  to  see  the  very  prettiest  sight  in  Bombay. 
About  a  mile  from  the  town  is  the  fine  new  building, 
with  towers  at  the  four  corners,  surrounded  by 
lovely  gardens,  —  the  Flower  Market.  Inside,  are 
long  vistas  of  high  piled-up  fruit  and  vegetables,  — 
great  tropical  fruits,  mangoes,  yellow  and  juicy,  pink 
and  white  mangosteens,  pomegranates,  and  guavas. 
Mammoth  fruits,  with  unknown  names,  frame  the 
little  Hindu  venders  squatting  among  their  wares  in 
rows  high  above  your  head,  and  filling  banana  leaves 
with  the  fruit  and  vegetables,  which  they  toss  down 
from  their  high  perch  into  the  open  arms  of  a  little 
native  housewife,  who  is  selecting  her  day's  supply. 
All  the  air  of  the  gardens  outside  seems  to  be  full  of 
twittering,  and  I  found  the  tall  acacia-trees  filled  with 
bird-cages,  tenanted  by  love-birds  and  paroquets, 
while  near  by  were  hundreds  of  little  monkeys, 
caged,  or  swinging  from  the  limbs  of  trees.  Two 
cockatoos,  in  white  and  gold  feathers,  slip  down  from 
their  perch  and  proceed  to  fight.  The  contents  of  the 
cages  scream  wildly ;  all  their  friends,  the  monkeys, 
chatter  or  howl  in  sympathy,  and  the  insect  life  of 


BOMB  A  Y.  93 


the  f^ardens  buzzes  and  hums  a  minor  accompaniment. 
The  tree-birds  chirp  and  twitter  in  every  tongue 
known  to  bird  hfe ;  and  above  the  uproar  rise  the 
voices  of  the  excited  natives,  adding  to,  instead  of 
quelling,  this  babel  of  languages.  It  was  the  Hindu 
New  Year's  day,  the  great  feast  of  the  year.  Nearly 
every  one  we  met  was  in  holiday  dress.  The  saris 
of  the  women  were  even  more  brightly  decorated 
than  usual  with  gold  tinsel  and  embroidery  of  yellow, 
green,  or  Indian-red,  wearing  about  their  necks  long 
wreaths  of  the  golden  chrysanthemum-like  flowers, 
which  the  w^omen  sell  to  the  passers-by  to  honor 
the  New  Year. 

The  Esplanade  Hotel,  at  which  we  are  stopping,  is 
large  and  roomy,  but  positively  like  barracks.  One 
must  indeed  learn  to  do  without  luxurious  surround- 
ings during  a  trip  to  India.  There  are  no  carpets 
anywhere  to  be  seen,  and  our  bedrooms  are  fur- 
nished with  severe  simplicity.  The  bed  is  without 
springs,  with  a  couple  of  quilted  arrangements  thrown 
over  the  bare  slats;  and  I  have  not  seen  anything 
that  resembled  a  table  in  my  room,  unless  it  is  a 
wooden  bench  slatted  like  a  chicken-coop.  A  bath- 
room, the  necessity  of  life  in  India,  is  attached  to 
each  room,  which  is  really  the  only  comfort.  You 
will  look  in  vain  for  bells,  electric  or  the  opposite. 
Each  room  opens  on  a  long  balcony,  and  a  call  down 
several  stories  will   soon  bring   a    native  beastie,  or 


94  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

water-carrier,  from  the  courtyard,  carrying  under  his 
arm  a  buffalo  skin,  sewn  together  to  contain  water, 
the  neck  of  the  beast  serving  as  a  spout;  and  with 
this  primitive  arrangement,  he  fills  your  bath  for  the 
morning  dip.  A  draught  of  air  is  as  indispensable 
to  the  people  in  the  East  as  it  is  dreaded  by  us  at 
home.  In  the  public  buildings  as  in  private  houses, 
in  the  sleeping-rooms  as  well  as  in  the  salons,  over 
the  pulpit  of  the  preacher  as  well  as  over  the  desk 
of  the  clerk,  in  fact  everywhere,  long  pieces  of  can- 
vas are  suspended,  attached  to  the  ceiling  by  cords, 
which  are  pulled  to  and  fro  by  a  native,  giving  a 
delicious  little  breeze  over  our  heads.  These  are 
the  punkahs,  and  they  are  generally  manipulated  by 
a  small  specimen  of  Asiatic  humanity,  who  is  called  a 
punkah-wallah.  You  often  see  one  of  these  small 
boys  fast  asleep  in  the  mid-day  sun,  with  the  pun- 
kah cord  fastened  to  his  great  toe,  —  sleeping  away 
blissfully,  keeping  up  the  action  of  the  punkah  from 
force  of  habit.  The  strangest  system  of  lights  is  in 
use.  Unless  in  the  character  of  an  outraged  Euro- 
pean you  storm  the  ofifice  citadel,  the  only  lumina- 
tion  you  will  ever  see  at  night  when  you  arrive  at 
your  number  in  the  hotel,  is  a  glass  tumbler  beside 
the  door,  filled  with  cocoanut  oil,  in  which  is  floating 
a  small  lighted  taper.  We  have  at  table  a  strange 
variety  of  food,  and  very  badly  cooked.  The  milk 
is  from  the  buffalo  cow,  blue  white  and  never  creamy. 


BOMB  A  Y.  95 

The  butter. is  also  white  and  very  tasteless,  but  the 
fruit  is  abundant  and  delicious.  We  are  served  with 
five  meals  every  day,  including  afternoon  tea  on  the 
balconies,  while  we  are  reclining  in  long  bamboo 
chairs,  which  look  so  comfortable  and  easy  that  they 
simply  invite  you  to  sit  in  them ;  for  all  this  we  pay 
five  or  six  rupees  a  day,  the  average  price  for  rooms 
and  board  at  all  the  hotels  in  the  East. 

The  wives  of  the  common  people  in  India  show 
themselves  in  the  streets  unveiled,  whether  they  be 
Mahometans  or  Hindus.  It  is  only  the  higher  classes 
who  impose  on  their  wives  the  seclusion  of  the 
harem.  The  women  are  generally  dressed  in  strik- 
ing colors,  with  silver  rings  and  bangles  from  the 
wrist  to  the  elbow.  Mahometan  women  wear  as  a 
nose-decoration  a  flat  gold  stud,  the  sign  of  marriage. 
Brahmins  and  other  Hindus  have  their  noses  pierced 
by  circles  of  gold,  some  as  long  as  a  necklace,  others 
so  small  that  it  would  seem  to  cause  them  great  em- 
barrassment in  taking  their  food.  I  have  seen  ear- 
rings of  gold,  spool-shaped,  and  heavily  ornamented 
with  stones,  thrust  through  the  lobe  of  the  ear,  which 
has  been  gradually  pressed  and  flattened  from  child- 
hood to  receive  this  ornament.  The  cheapness  of 
printed  cottons  from  Manchester  is  bringing  about 
the  disappearance  of  hand-embroidered  stuffs,  which 
in  olden  times  the  Indian  women  wore  universally. 
Why  cannot  the  women  of  India  keep  forever  this 


96  A    GIRVS  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

picturesqueness,  —  always  wear  this  enchanting  sari? 
Why  lose  the  grace  and  charm  of  Eastern  warp 
and  woof,  to  adopt  a  costume  destructive  of  all 
poetry,  just  because  machines  from  Manchester 
have  invaded  fairy-land?  Unfortunately,  we  have 
to  learn  that  nations  are  not  easily  stopped,  when 
once  started  on  the  road  to  public  good  by  self- 
ish notions  of  picturesque  fitness  which  we,  who 
so  eagerly  embrace  every  new  and  civilized  com- 
fort in  dress  or  machinery,  may  strive  to  impose 
on  them.     As  Browning  says,  — 

"  But  mankind  are  not  pieces  —  there  's  the  fault; 
You  cannot  push  them,  and  the  first  move  made, 
Lean  back  and  study  what  the  next  shall  be, 
In  confidence  that  when  'tis  fixed  upon 
You  find  just  where  you  left  them,  blacks  and  whites ; 
Men  go  on  moving  when  your  hand  's  away." 

Nothing  can  be  more  irrational  and  uncivilized 
than  the  way  mothers  carry  their  children  in  this 
country,  —  the  little  ones  astride  their  mothers'  hips, 
held  securely  in  this  position  by  a  firm  arm  about 
them.  It  is  very  shocking  to  see  a  fragile  little 
mother,  ten  or  eleven  years  old,  her  slight  form  bent 
out  of  shape  under  the  weight  of  a  bouncing  bab}- 
half  as  large  as  herself  The  native  girls  are  be- 
trothed when  about  three  years  old,  and  are  almost 
universally  married  when  from  eight  to  ten  years 
of  age.     But  this  is  a  common  street  sight  that  y^ou 


BOMB  A  Y. 


97 


are  likely  to  see,  wherever  you  turn.  In  the  Indian 
women,  especially  among  the  lower  castes,  no  ro- 
bustness exists,  no  hearty  vigor.  They  are  under- 
sized, undeveloped,  and  overworked,  sentenced  by 
their  religion  to  have  three  masters,  —  their  father, 
elder  brother,  and  husband. 


98  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA, 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ALLAHABAD. 

January  22. 
T  EAVJNG  Bombay  at  ten  o'clock  P.  M.,  on  the 
"^  Calcutta  mail-train,  we  passed  directly  over 
the  high  Ghauts,  and  for  two  days  and  one  night 
traversed  the  table-land  of  India.  Indian  railway 
carriages  have  a  wide  seat  on  each  side  of  the  com- 
partment. At  night,  an  extra  berth  is  let  down  from 
above,  on  which  you  place  your  own  pillows  and 
resai}  draw  the  curtain  over  the  night-lamp,  and 
no  one  disturbs  your  slumbers  by  screaming  the 
different  stations  or  demanding  tickets.  All  this 
time  the  train  goes  along  leisurely  twenty  miles 
an  hour,  stops  thirty  minutes  for  chota-hazri,  stops 
again  for  dinner,  and  then  for  afternoon  tea,  taken  at 
dainty  tables  spread  under  vine-covered  arbors  and 
flowery  trees.  The  Indian  stations  are  the  prettiest 
in  the  world,  the  station-master  being  stimulated  by 
a  prize  offered  yearly  by  the  railway  company  for 
the  most  beautiful  grounds  and  surroundings  ;  the 
natives  fill  every  space  with  flowers  and  shrubbery, 

1  Resai,  an  Indian  blanket,  wadded,  and  generally  made  of  bright 
cottons. 


ALLAHABAD. 


99 


and  plant  vines  to  creep  over  the  buildings  them- 
selves. Up  and  down  the  station  paces  the  bJiistie 
(water-carrier),  who  supplies  water  in  brass  lotas  to 
thirsty  travellers,  replenishing  his  pouch,  the  tanned 
hide  of  a  bullock,  at  the  station  well.  They  tell  us 
this  functionary  is  always  a  Brahmin,  in  order  that 
the  Hindus  may  drink  the  water  safely  without 
breaking  caste ;  and  should  a  low-caste  person  desire 
to  quench  his  thirst,  he  must  be  content  to  have  the 
water  poured  into  his  hollowed  hand. 

As  a  rule,  the  natives  manage  the  iron  roads,  are 
the  engineers,  the  trainmen,  station  babus,  and  fill  no 
end  of  positions.  Dozens  and  half-dozens  rush  to- 
wards an  advancing  train,  scrutinize  the  occupants  of 
the  carriages,  offer  sticky  sweetened  balls  of  unknown 
ingredients,  or  steaming  chai  from  thick  white  cups, 
with  coarse  sugar,  and  invariably  oranges  and  bana- 
nas, with  which  we  supply  our  lunch-basket,  made 
of  rattan  from  prudential  motives.  Our  boxes  now 
number  thirteen  pieces,  and  we  have  in  addition  a 
native  servant,  who  is  called  in  this  part  of  India 
a  ''bearer."  "  Shanker,"  which  you  must  pronounce 
*'  Shunker,"  is  a  Surati  man,  as  we  have  found  out  to 
our  sorrow.  In  Calcutta,  the  Bengali  house-steward 
paid  no  heed  to  "Shanker's"  request  for  soup,  peas, 
or  oranges,  in  compliance  with  our  needs  at  table; 
and  the  dinner  was  usually  prolonged  at  least  a  half- 
hour,  all  owing  to  his  being  of  a  lower  caste  and 


100  A    GIRVS  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

a  different  worship.  It  would  seem  the  ideal  way  to 
have  a  new  servant  for  each  place,  and  of  the  religion 
prevailing  in  the  country.  It  may  seem  queer  to  us 
that  any  people  should  trouble  themselves  over  mix- 
ing up  creeds  and  potatoes,  or  piety  and  pineapples, 
but  one  cannot  conceive  of  the  way  these  Eastern 
races  live  out  their  religious  principles  in  every  act 
of  the  day.  Eastern  servants  require  any  amount  of 
looking  after;  they  require  to  be  told  the  same  thing 
over  and  over  every  day,  and  what  is  worse,  besides 
telling,  you  must  stand  over  them  and  see  that  they 
do  it.  You  must  also  inform  them  by  fragments  just 
what  you  want  of  them,  as  they  can't  take  in  much  at 
one  time;  but,  after  all,  it  is  such  a  comfort  to  have 
some  one  always  willing  to  do  everything  as  a  matter 
of  course,  having  no  other  idea  than  that  of  serv- 
ing you. 

Shanker  is  a  Hindu,  and  a  worshipper  of  Vishnu, 
to  the  absolute  exclusion  of  the  other  two  mem- 
bers of  the  Hindu  trinity.  One  afternoon  in  Be- 
nares he  begged  off  from  duty,  without  assigning  a 
reason  as  usual.  Later  in  the  day,  we  encountered 
him  coming  up  from  his  dip  in  the  Ganges,  which  I 
suppose  washed  away  his  small  offences  committed 
against  ourselves,  in  the  matter  of  making  off  with 
loose  change  and  petty  pice.  I  have  noticed  that  the 
boy  is  becoming  gradually  inoculated  with  civilized 
ideas  after  six  weeks  of  contact  with  his  American 


ALLAHABAD.  lOI 

mistresses.  One  day  last  week  his  face  fairly  beamed 
with  joy,  and  wc  made  him  produce  the  cause.  He 
had  been  to  the  bazaar,  and  had  invested  in  a  pair  of 
cinnamon-colored  stockings,  the  first  he  ever  owned 
in  his  life  ;  and  in  order  to  make  his  vanity  as  little 
apparent  to  the  other  servants  as  possible,  he  had 
bought  stockings  of  the  exact  shade  of  his  bright 
brown  skin.  Shanker,  having  climbed  forty  rounds  of 
his  life's  ladder  barefoot,  now  proposes  in  future  to 
proceed  more  comfortably.  The  rest  of  his  clothes 
are  also  undergoing  transformation:  instead  of  the 
gorgeous  butterfly  in  red  and  gold  turban  and  brill- 
iant sash  in  which  we  found  him,  he  now  insists  on 
leaving  off  his  cumberbund ;  so  at  the  end  he  will 
probably  reverse  the  natural  butterfly  method  of  do- 
ing things,  and  turn  into  a  black-trousered  and  check- 
coated  worm.  You  should  hear  his  attempted  Eng- 
lish to  appreciate  it.  Anything  more  funny  I  never 
imagined.  His  meaning  can  only  be  guessed  at,  and 
his  face  never  changes  expression  in  spite  of  the  fits 
of  laughing  which  overcome  B.  and  myself  at  some 
of  his  speeches.  Shanker  wears  a  bang  of  oily  black 
hair,  and  two  very  curly  love-locks  in  front  of  each 
ear,  always  plastered  down  in  place,  over  a  full  beard 
of  the  same  silk-like  texture.  I  never  know  when 
he  eats  his  two  daily  meals,  for  he  is  always  ni 
evidence.  Call  out,  "  Shanker,"  and  the  echo  an- 
swers, "  Mem  sahib?"  a  long  musical  tone  on  the 
end,  which  sounds  like  "  Sabe." 


102  A    GIRVS   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

Shanker's  accomplishments  are  innumerable,  and 
his  occupations  varied.     He  is  our  general  manager, 
our  treasurer;    speaks  the  languages  as  interpreter; 
is   courier  and  guide  in  one;    makes  our  beds,  and 
sleeps  with  one  eye  open  at  night  on  a  rug  outside 
our  door;    puts  on  a  white  starched   linen  garment 
above  his  bare  feet,  and  waits  on  us   at  table;    sits 
on  the  box  when  we  drive  ;   opens  carriage  doors ; 
brings  hot  water;  loads  up  our  traps,  camel-like,  in 
travelling,  —  duties   for  which   he   feels   munificently 
rewarded  by  twenty  rupees  a  month,  and  an  allow- 
ance   of  four    annas    a   day   for  his    food,   which    is 
dol,  or  curry  and  rice  with  tea.     At  the  stations  he 
secures    our    first-class    carriage,    stows    away    our 
boxes,  and  tips  the  guard  that  we  may  not  be  dis- 
turbed   in    our  journey.     This    done,   he    rushes    off 
with   his   worldly   possessions   in   his   carpet-bag,  on 
which    is   tied    a   pewter   tea-pot   without    a   spout. 
With  this  he  enters  his  third-class  carriage,  which 
is    like    the    open    street-cars    in    New    York,    and 
where  the  natives  are  crowded  together  so  closely 
that  they  must  sit  upright  and  have  no  chance  of 
resting  or  sleeping  during  the  night. 

We  are  stopping  at  Laurie's  Hotel,  —  in  the  midst 
of  a  large  compound  of  magnificent  trees,  once 
green,  but  at  this  season  colored  brown  with  dead 
leaves,  dry  and  dusty.  The  house  has  only  one 
floor,  forming  a  crescent  of  columns;   and  our  rooms 


ALLAHABAD. 


103 


have  an  entrance  from  the  dining-room,  and  also  one 
from  the  garden  compound,  where  only  a  bamboo 
screen  separates  us  from  the  usual  inhabitants  of 
such  premises,  —  the  native  coolies,  who  have  here 
their  huts  with  the   chickens   and  the   crows. 

It  is.  Sunday  morning  when  we  arrive  ;  and  in  the 
afternoon  we  hunt  up  Miss  S.,^ —  a  niece  of  a  former 
distinguished  American  statesman,  —  who  has  lived 
for  twenty-three  years  in  Allahabad.  Our  native  syce 
insists  that  he  knows  just  where  to  find  her,  and  first 
lands  us  in  the  heart  of  the  native  quarter,  at  a  little 
white  Presbyterian  church,  queerly  contrasting  with 
the  mud  huts  of  the  vicinity.  On  the  street  and  in 
the  bazaar,  everything  is  going  on  as  usual.  The 
tailors  cut  and  snip  in  open  air,  sitting  cross-legged 
before  their  work,  in  full  view  of  passers-by;  every 
part  of  the  article  in  hand  is  done  before  the  pur- 
chaser's own  eyes,  every  part  is  in  the  process  of 
completion  in  the  very  place  where  the  finished 
thing  is  sold.  They  are  the  native  bazaars,  all  with- 
out windows  ;  the  interior  is  dark,  floored  with  mud, 
with  clay  walls  and  ceiling,  and  barren  of  furniture. 
We  step  inside  the  church,  and  see  a  congregation  of 
dark  people,  —  the  men  on  one  side  of  the  centre  aisle, 
and  the  women  on  the  other,  in  their  white  chuddahs, 
and  thin  white  veils  over  their  heads.     The  preacher 

1  Since  writing  the  above,  her  friends  have  received  news  of  her 
death  from  cholera  in  Allahabad. 


I04  A    GIRVS  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

was  reading  in  Hindustani,  but  so  impressively  that 
I  could  almost  understand  his  meaning  from  the  ex- 
pression he  gave  to  his  musical  language.  An  old 
native  handed  me  a  Hindustani  hymn-book,  which 
I  could  not  read ;  so  we  only  remained  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  were  re-directed  to  *'  Miss  Sahib,"  as  she 
is  known  in  Allahabad. 

In  a  pretty  compound,  rose-garlanded  and  vine- 
twisted,  stands  the  thatched-roof  bungalow,  where 
we  find  the  little  American  lady.  Here  she  has 
lived  sixteen  years,  her  only  companion  an  Eng- 
lish assistant,  nurse  and  doctor  all  in  one.  We 
think  she  has  a  pretty  plain  time  of  it,  poor  little 
woman ;  her  companion  only  cares  to  discuss  two 
subjects.  These  begin  the  day  and  end  the  hours 
of  after-dinner  talk,  accompany  the  drives  and  small 
excursions  of  the  two  little  ladies;  and,  perhaps, 
their  restless  dreams  conjure  up  two  gaunt  and  hide- 
ous spectre  incarnations  of  their  day  thought.  These 
two  subjects,  the  Alpha  and  Omega  of  their  conver- 
sation, the  grim  supplanters  of  woman's  small  talk 
and  gossip,  are  "theology"  and  the  "dispensary." 
A  dear  old  ayah,  soft-footed  and  gentle,  takes  good 
care  of  her  little  mistress  ;  and,  besides,  there  are 
more  servants  to  manage  the  house  and  to  be 
managed.  There  is  the  sweeper,  who  can  only  at- 
tend to  his  department,  and  never  enters  the  cuisine; 
for   an   Indian  servant  only  performs  the  duties'  of 


ALLAHABAD.  10$ 

his  hereditary  Hne  of  business,  —  and  so  on  to  syces} 
bJiistics^  and  dJiobics?  All  these  servants  come  to 
this  considerate  mistress  with  great  willingness,  and 
are  as  devoted  as  native  gratitude  permits. 

We  enjoyed  Allahabad  after  this  with  our  accom- 
plished guide,  to  whom  all  the  Urdu  and  Hindustani 
spoken  is  as  her  own  language,  and  we  never  wearied 
her  complaisance  in  asking  a  million  questions  about 
India  and  her  friends,  the  Indians.  In  the  native  city, 
deep  in  its  narrow  lanes  and  curving  streets,  there  is 
one  building,  which  is  on  quite  different  lines  from 
its  neighbors.  Here,  every  morning  at  an  early 
hour,  comes  Miss  S.'s  dog-cart,  with  the  syce  hold- 
inij  the  white  cotton  umbrella  over  his  little  mis- 
tress's  determined  and  courageous  head  and  gold- 
rimmed  eye-glasses.  It  is  the  new  dispensary,  this 
plain,  substantial  building,  —  the  result  of  Miss  S.'s 
determined  energy,  and  is  her  pride  and  joy.  We 
also  came  there  one  morning  in  that  little  cart,  and 
found  the  two  assistants  already  busy  and  hard  at 
work  in  the  bare,  cheerless  interior,  —  no  carpets,  no 
pictures  or  hangings  or  chairs,  where  no  occupants 
could  be  seen  except  the  three  little  doctors.  Outside 
the  office  door,  on  the  enclosed  piazza,  and  squatting 
on  the  hard  cement  floor  of  the  room,  were  the  pa- 
tients, forming  a  circle  of  painful  and  expectant  faces. 

1  Syce,  an  Indian  coachman.  ^  Bhistie,  water-carrier. 

3  Dhobie,  laundry-man. 


I06  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

They  were  ill,  that  was  evident,  but  patient,  like  all 
the  East  ;  and  each  would  wait  her  turn  to  be  sum- 
moned to  Miss  S.'s  side,  registered  in  a  book,  num- 
bered, and  questioned  as  to  the  trouble,  if  treated 
before,  etc.  —  and  all  without  complaining,  just 
simply  stating  their  sickness,  and  answering  ques- 
tions. It  was  so  unutterably  sad.  A  few  persons 
had  companions  to  help  them  walk  the  distance  to 
the  infirmary  ;  and  high-caste  women  were  carried 
here  in  piirdaJis  by  coolies,  closely  concealed  from 
all  view.  Medicines  are  given,  operations  performed, 
and  women  cured,  who  otherwise  would  never  have 
been  well  again.  Their  only  hope,  their  comfort, 
and  their  very  existence  they  owe  to  Miss  S.  No 
man  would  be  permitted  to  see  or  touch  them. 
The  position  of  women  here  is  so  inferior  to  that 
of  men,  that  a  physician  is  rarely  called  should 
they  be  ill. 

In  a  rich  Hindu  family,  it  sometimes  happens 
that  as  a  last  resource  a  doctor  is  summoned.  His 
patient  is  then  closely  concealed  from  view  by 
purdahs  (heavy  curtains),  which  are  parted  only 
wide  enough  to  thrust  through  the  hand  or  show 
the  tongue.  From  these  unsatisfactory  evidences 
alone,  the  doctor  makes  up  his  mind  as  to  the 
treatment ;  and  it  sometimes  happens  that,  owing 
to  the  distrust  of  medical  assistance  in  the  Hindu 
religion,  a  test  of  the   doctor's  knowledge  is  made 


ALLAHABAD.  10/ 

by   the   husband,  in   having   a   well    person    instead 
of  the  sick  one   placed  behind  the  purdah. 

I  would  say  a  few  words,  by  the  way,  on  the 
subject  of  the  dispensary.  It  is  only  useful,  in 
the  first  place,  to  a  few  of  the  many  sick  and 
suffering  native  women  in  Allahabad.  Hundreds 
of  women  are  dying  of  utter  neglect,  —  there  not 
being  sufficient  funds  available  for  the  dispensary  to 
pursue  the  work  of  healing  in  their  homes,  should 
the  patients  be  too  ill  to  return  for  treatment. 
So  they  are  often  lost  track  of  after  a  few  visits, 
and  probably  die  in  their  homes,  to  the  undeserved 
discredit  of  their  physicians.  We  felt  very  indig- 
nant at  the  way  in  which  Miss  S.'s  splendid  medical 
knowledge  was  cramped  and  her  wonderful  energy 
curtailed,  from  her  not  being  able  to  control  the 
financial  expenditures  needed  for  her  dispensary. 
A  little  more  encouragement  and  aid  would  furnish 
the  plain,  bare  rooms  with  beds  and  a  few  needed 
accessories,  adding  wards,  in  the  hospital  manner, 
where  native  women  could  be  properly  cared  for 
and  attended  by  competent  nurses.  The  Lady 
Dufferin  Hospitals  would  seem  to  supply  this  need 
of  medical  care  for  native  women ;  but  I  have  heard 
them  spoken  of  in  the  East  in  a  slighting  manner, 
from  the  readiness  to  employ  native  nurses  and 
doctors  after  only  a  few  months'  training  and  prac- 
tice.    It  only  requires  a  few  months  of  this  hospital 


I08  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

life  for  any  woman  to  gain  a  diploma,  whether  or 
no  she  has  any  natural  gifts,  qualifications,  or,  in 
fact,  intelligence  enough  to  acquire  the  art  of  heal- 
ing. The  medical  missionaries  speak  very  guardedly 
and  with  great  reserve  when  talking  of  these  insti- 
tutions; but  one  can  easily  detect  a  soiipqoii  of 
disapproval,  when  they  say,  "  It  is  a  step  certainly, 
but  not  a  great  one,  in  the   right  direction." 

At  half  past  ten  the  last  medicine  had  been  given, 
and  we  all  left  for  a  walk.  It  was  in  such  a  narrow 
street  that  no  horse  harnessed  to  anything  whatever 
could  possibly  come  through  it.  We  stopped  before 
a  one-story,  white  plaster  house,  pushing  open  a 
low  wooden  door  without  further  ceremony.  The 
doctor  had  been  very  often  to  this  house  profes- 
sionally ;  this  time  she  was  bringing  us  to  the  resi- 
dence of  a  Brahmin  pundit,  to  see  the  women  of  a 
Hindu  zenana,  who  never  before  had  looked  at  a 
white  lady  except  Miss  S.  We  lift  a  thick-wadded 
curtain  that  separates  the  public  from  the  private 
parts  of  the  house,  and  enter  a  small  courtyard 
planted  with  fruit-trees  and  shrubbery,  around 
which  are  the  women's  apartments.  Zenana  means 
simply  a  **  woman."  Many  of  the  Indians  speak 
of  their  wives  as  their  zenanas.  The  Hindu  idea 
of  a  family  is  made  to  embrace  not  only  the  head 
of  the  house,  but  the  sons,  the  grandsons,  and  the 
great-grandsons,  as  well   as  the   brothers  and   their 


ALLAHABAD.  IO9 

descendants.  The  Hindu  boy  bridegroom  always 
takes  his  new  wife  to  his  father's  house,  where  a 
room  is  given  him;  so  the  different  members  of 
these  clannish  families  live  together.  The  money 
brought  in  by  the  family  is  placed  in  one  common 
fund,  presided  over  by  the  lord  of  the  manor.  The 
zenana  apartments  are  quite  distinct  from  those 
occupied  by  the  men;  and  during  the  day  husband 
and  wife  never  meet  for  conversation,  and  only  see 
each  other  while  they  are  being  served  at  table  by 
the  women,  who  never  think  of  touching  food  until 
the  men  have  enjoyed  their  meals  and  gone  out  of 
the  house  to  business  or  some  place  of  amusement. 
It  is  a  strict  rule  of  the  Hindu  religion  that  all  food 
must  be  cooked  and  prepared  by  the  wives,  who  do 
everything  about  the  house,  unassisted  except  in  the 
most  menial  labor.  The  inner  rooms  occupied  by 
the  zenana  ladies  have  very  small  windows,  too 
high  to  look  into  the  street:  the  Vedas  command 
that  a  woman  must  never  stand  at  a  door  or  look 
out  of  a  window.  From  this  prison  life,  she  enters 
the  world  rarely  ;  and  when  she  goes,  it  is  in  a 
palanquin,  carried  on  the  shoulders  of  four  men. 
When  paying  a  visit  to  her  father's  house,  which 
she  is  occasionally  permitted  to  do,  the  palanquin 
is  carried  into  the  courtyard ;  when  the  woman 
enters,  the  doors  slide  back  into  their  places,  and 
over    all    is    spread    a   purdah,   so   carefully   veiled 


1 10  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

and   guarded  she   can  neither  see   nor  be  seen  by 
any  one. 

The  ladles  of  the  Brahmin  household  were  taken 
entirely  unawares  by  our  visit.  We  found  them  sit- 
ting on  a  charpoy,  in  a  plain,  undecorated  room, 
in  simple  muslin  saris,  without  their  feast-day  orna- 
ments and  jewels,  —  only  the  splendid  gems  which 
hung  from  the  nose-rings  proved  they  possessed 
anything  in  the  line  of  luxury.  The  apartment  was 
so  lacking  in  comfort,  or  any  suggestion  of  ease, 
that  you  were  simply  startled  by  the  stern  reality 
of  the  bare,  uneventful,  listless  lives  of  the  women, 
which  you  always  had  pictured  in  your  own  mind 
as  living  among  the  fanciful  glories  of  the  "  Arabian 
Nights,"  We  were  told  these  glories,  in  the  way  of 
hangings,  rugs,  and  draperies,  are  only  brought  out 
for  marriages  or  other  feasts,  and  that  the  usual  ap- 
pearance of  the  richest  Indian  household  is  similar 
to  the  one  we  are  now  visiting.  A  beautiful  Cash- 
merian  woman,  with  the  rich  olive  complexion  of  a 
brunette  and  soft  dreamy  eyes,  blackened  under  the 
lids  with  ''the  kohol's  jetty  dye,  to  give  that  long, 
dark  language  to  the  eye,"  and  her  little  boy,  in  em- 
broidered velvet  jacket  and  tinsel  cap,  and  nothing 
else  besides  for  raiment,  who  shrank  back  in  his 
mother's  arms  in  terror  at  our  strange  faces  and 
dress,  made  a  beautiful  Madonna  picture  in  Oriental 
colors. 


ALLAHABAD.  Ill 

Like  everything  else  that  is  beautiful  in  the  East, 
the  finest  women  come  from  the  Vale  of  Cashmere. 
This  one  was  the  favorite  wife  of  the  Brahmin ;  and 
it  is  unusual  among  this  aristocratic  sect  to  have 
more  than  one  wife,  except  in  extraordinary  cases, 
and  then  the  oldest  woman  becomes  the  ruler  of  the 
zenana,  whom  all  the  others  are  expected  to  re- 
spect and  obey.  Through  our  interpreter,  we  talked 
pleasantly  with  these  ladies  for  an  hour,  and  were 
charmed  by  their  gentle  and  friendly  manner,  which 
left  an  impression  of  cordiality,  sweetness,  and  dig- 
nity, which  will  linger  long  in  our  memories. 

At  length  we  must  leave ;  and  would  say,  "  Good- 
by,  we  are  going,"  when  Miss  S.  warned  us  in  time 
that  this  would  be  an  unpardonable  breach  of  Indian 
etiquette.  When  a  visitor  to  a  Hindu  house  leaves, 
the  custom  is  not  to  say,  ''  I  am  going,"  —  that  would 
very  properly  shock  the  hostess ;  but  the  leave- 
taking  is  like  this :  the  guest  salaams  her  hostess 
and  says,  "  I  come ;  "  to  which  the  lady  sweetly  re- 
plies, "  Come  again." 

To-dav  we  drove  out  to  the  Great  Melah  in  a  hicrh 
barouche.  Two  postilions  ran  ahead  and  cleared 
the  way,  else  our  progress  might  have  been  fatally 
terminated  at  some  sharp  corner.  The  mcIah  is  a 
high  feast,  which  takes  place  once  every  year  at  a 
point  where  the  yellow  Ganges  flows  into  the  blue 
Jumna    River.     What   a   sight!     Thousands    of  pil- 


112  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

grlms  from  all  over  India  and  the  great  Thibetian 
table-land  come  here  to  bathe  in  the  Ganges,  —  old 
and  lame,  young  and  beautiful,  rajahs  and  beggars, — 
camping  in  their  bamboo  huts  on  the  plain  by  the 
riverside,  among  the  mud-covered  holy  men;  for 
bathing  in  the  Ganges  will  destroy  all  sins,  past,  pres- 
ent, or  future.  We  stopped  to  speak  to  a  group  of 
fakirs,  sitting  around  some  dead  embers,  their  faces 
painted  with  colored  clays,  their  hair  so  matted  and 
covered  with  ashes,  that  it  indeed  seemed  impossi- 
ble to  realize  that  these  were  the  "  wise  men  from  the 
East." 

The  role  of  a  fakir  is  assumed  by  Brahmins  and 
many  who  are  not  Brahmins.  It  is  a  profession 
in  India,  —  a  profession  of  asceticism  or  sainthood. 
The  regime  required  to  become  a  Hindu  saint  is 
severe  and  terrible.  They  are  first  obliged  to  be- 
come students,  learning  from  the  older  priests  the 
sacred  scriptures  of  the  Vedas ;  they  then  *'  pass 
into  the  silent  life  of  prayer,"  and  spend  years  of 
meditation  in  the  jungle,  to  complete  their  self-sac- 
rifice ;  and,  as  a  final  test,  remain  seven  years  in  the 
world.  In  India,  I  met  a  Swedish  lady  who  told 
me  that  she  spent  an  evening  at  a  ball  in  Bombay 
in  the  society  of  a  Hindu,  who  charmed  her  by 
his  conversation,  his  wit,  and  brilliancy.  Being 
thoroughly  in  sympathy  with  this  lady's  thought 
about  the  Eastern  religion,  he   was    moved   to    tell 


ALLAHABAD.  II3 

her  when  they  parted  that  he  —  this  courtly,  charm- 
ing man  —  was  passing  through  the  test  which  suc- 
ceeds the  mud  of  the  fakir's  Hfc,  in  order  to  attain 
his  sainthood. 

Allahabad  is  a  beautiful,  regular  town,  built  on  the 
banks  of  the  Jumna  River.  The  European  bunga- 
lows are  low,  one-storied  buildings,  surrounded  by 
gardens  tastefully  laid  out,  with  vines  falling  like  a 
curtain  in  a  shower  of  purple  blossoms  from  over 
the  poj'te  cocJihe.  The  garrison  occupies  Akbar's 
old  fort  on  the  banks  of  the  river.  In  the  olden 
time  the  fort  was  the  site  of  a  much  venerated  Hindu 
shrine.  It  was  considered  a  sacred  place  on  ac- 
count of  a  tree  which  grows  without  sun  or  light 
in  the  midst  of  the  dark  subterranean  chapel.  The 
English  have  never  quite  dared  to  close  the  shrine 
to  the  native  Hindus,  who  still  believe  the  tree 
thrives  as  it  did  in  ancient  times.  The  English  offi- 
cer who  showed  us  about  the  fort,  and  with  whom 
we  visited  the  place,  told  us  under  his  breath  that 
the  Brahmins,  who  have  imposed  this  fiction  for 
many  hundreds  of  years  on  the  people,  continue  to 
do  so  under  the  British  government;  and  twice,  the 
officer  said,  the  dead  tree  had  been  cut  down  and 
taken  away  in  the  night  by  the  priests,  and  he  had 
himself  aided  in  replacing  it  by  a  new  one. 


114  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CALCUTTA. 

January  23. 

A  BREEZE  is  blowing,  and  it  is  from  the  Bay 
-^  -^  of  Bengal.  There  is  a  breath-touch  of  cold 
at  nightfall,  and  it  comes  from  the  Himalayas.  From 
all  the  open  windows  and  balconies  a  gentle  air  re- 
minds you  of  flowers,  and  it  is  the  scent  of  the 
lotus ;  and  leaves  come  flying  in  the  wind,  and  they 
are  from  the  gardens  of  the  Viceroy  of  India's  pal- 
ace. From  my  window-seat  you  can  look  off,  and 
ships  are  lying  close  to  the  docks,  their  tall  masts 
traced  against  the  Indian  sky,  and  they  are  an- 
chored on  the  Ganges ;  so  that  you  know  this  is 
Calcutta  and  we  are  in  the  presidency  of  Bengal,  — 
the  heart  of  the  great  and  splendid  India. 

You  must  say  *'  India "  almost  reverently,  not 
lightly,  because  it  means  so  much ;  it  is  so  wonder- 
ful ;  and  we  are,  or  seem  to  be,  present  at  its  death, 
or  the  passing  away  of  its  latest  conquerors,  the  Mo- 
guls. In  Italy  and  other  lands  ruins  are  reminders 
of  past  days,  so  long  gone  by  that  you  talk  of  them 
as  mere  phantoms,  and  scarcely  believe  them  as  real- 


CALCUTTA.  115 

ities;  but  here  the  great  palaces  and  wonderful 
mosques  have  to  do  with  people  who,  as  it  were, 
have  just  left,  and  are  not  yet  forgotten.  The 
palaces  are  perfect,  or  nearly  so,  —  abandoned  so 
recently  by  the  emperors,  and  only  yesterday  trans- 
formed into  forts  and  high  courts  of  justice. 

I  am  beginning  to  take  in  the  vast  empire  we  call 
India,  and  my  imagination  is  playing  riot  to-day 
in  fancies.  What  wonderful  people  these  Bengalis 
are !  There  are  fifteen  thousand  learned  university 
graduates  in  Calcutta  alone,  —  among  them  high- 
caste  Brahmin  students,  who  have  first  studied  and 
learned  English,  and  then  their  own  language,  be- 
sides Sanscrit,  which  is  the  language  of  their  books, 
the  literary  language  of  India. 

At  six  o'clock  yesterday  morning  I  opened  my 
eyes  and  saw  Calcutta  from  the  railway  carriage, 
where  we  spent  a  very  good  night,  wrapped  in  rugs 
and  with  innumerable  cushions.  No  one  else  occu- 
pied the  carriage;  each  had  a  wide  sliding  bed  to 
sleep  on,  and  there  were  thirteen  different  packages 
in  our  compartment  for  comfort.  Two  young  Eng- 
lishmen next  door  outnumbered  us,  however,  as  I 
counted  thirty  boxes  and  traps  come  out  of  their 
carriage  this  morning.  No  one  minds  luggage  in 
this  country.  Twenty  coolies  were  the  very  least 
that  we  required  to  land  our  luggage,  and  we  could 
easily  have   had   two   hundred    by  a  nod   to  them. 


Il6  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

They  walked  from  the  train  across  the  station  plat- 
form, carrying  our  heavy  boxes  on  their  heads,  and 
waited  at  the  carriage  door  to  receive  their  two  pice 
each,  —  about  one  and  a  half  cents,  which  satisfied 
their  modest  aspirations.  A  cart  made  of  long  reeds 
of  bamboo  laid  between  two  wheels  and  drawn  by 
bullocks,  took  our  heavy  boxes,  while  we  mounted 
a  palki-gharri,  and  drove  to  the  Great  Eastern  Hotel. 
The  palki  proper  is  a  square  black  box,  —  the  gon- 
dola of  Calcutta,  —  always  black  and  brightly  var- 
nished, carried  by  coolies,  one  at  each  end  of  the 
two  long  poles  on  which  it  rests.  You  enter  a  slid- 
ing door,  and  recline  on  your  back  when  being  car- 
ried about. 

The  Great  Eastern  is  the  best  inn  that  the  capi- 
tal affords,  but  greatly  behind  the  times  in  every 
modern  invention.  Its  situation  is  good,  facing 
the  Government  House,  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  park ;  and  there  are  plenty  of  green  trees  and 
flowers  in  sight  from  the  wide  verandas.  The  hotel 
is  full  to  overflowing,  as  it  usually  is  in  January,  — 
the  season  in  Calcutta.  A  servant  shows  us  rooms 
in  an  annex  in  a  side  street,  which  they  call  a  ter- 
race, but  it  looks  like  a  shed,  roughly  built,  with 
unpolished  board  partitions,  and'  furnished  with 
three  beds,  varying  in  size,  but  composed  alike  of 
iron  slats,  mercifully  hidden  from  sight  by  a  thin 
mattress  spread  over  them.  They  promise  better 
things,  however,  later  on. 


CALCUTTA. 


117 


We  had  really  determined  to  take  a  good  rest,  but 
the  temptation  to  go  and  see  something  was  so  strong 
that  in  the  afternoon  we  set  off  for  a  Hindu  native  ba- 
zaar. Our  gharri  is  a  most  disreputable  equipage  for 
the  capital  of  all  the  Indies ;  but  the  coachman  has  a 
sort  of  white  and  purple  turban,  like  a  life-preserver, 
on  his  head,  and  a  white  gown  like  a  chorister's  over 
his  brown  legs,  and  two  other  men  stand  up  behind, 
while  our  boy  "  Shanker  "  sits  on  the  box,  with  his 
arms  folded,  and  his  bare  feet  braced  on  the  dash- 
board in  perfect  line  with  the  coachman,  which 
should  add  dignity  enough  to  make  us  contented, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  horses'  dinner  of  hay  is 
trailing  down  from  a  loose  bundle  on  the  front  seat, 
and  a  pack  of  the  same  is  tied  up  in  muslin  wrappings 
under  the  carriage.  After  a  long  drive,  we  reached 
an  open  street,  lined  with  native  houses  of  a  rather 
good  class,  stopped  at  a  certain  number  in  Upper 
Circular  Road,  and  entered  the  grounds  of  Lily 
Cottage,  where  the  great  Hindu  reformer,  Keshub 
Chunder  Sen,  lived  for  many  years. 

It  was  ladies'  day  at  the  festival,  and  a  thick-wad- 
ded curtain  fenced  securely  all  masculine  glances 
from  the  bazaar.  Among  the  dense  old  peepul-trees 
(worshipped,  no  doubt,  by  the  forefathers  of  these 
very  Hindu  ladies  who  are  selling  French  dolls  and 
European  toys)  were  the  high-caste  women  of  Cal- 
cutta, —  the   representatives    of  the    families  of  the 


Il8  A    GIRVS   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

Brahmo-Somaj,  founded  by  Sen,  nearly  all  of  whom 
have  discarded  caste  and  superstition,  and  are  the 
Liberals  of  India.  No  one  spoke  English ;  and 
among  so  many  women,  no  others  but  ourselves  wore 
European  dress,  —  all  were  draped  alike  in  saris,  bor- 
dered with  gold,  and  wore  nose-rings,  and  ear-rings 
extending  from  the  top  to  the  lobe  of  the  ear. 

Through  the  vista  made  by  branching  trees  we 
wandered  aimlessly  towards  a  white,  pillared,  Cor- 
inthian house.  A  magnificent,  broad-shouldered 
young  Indian,  looking  like  a  Roman  senator  in  his 
white  toga,  came  down  from  his  house  along  the 
great  flight  of  steps  leading  to  the  ground-floor.  It 
was  Sen's  son;  he  spoke  to  us  in  perfect  English, 
and  explained  with  pride,  that,  although  the  Liberals 
were  every  day  shaking  ofl"  the  seclusion  which 
guards  their  women,  he  would  not  yet  be  allowed 
to  enter  the  bazaar  on  ladies'  day  for  fear  of  offend- 
ing some  of  the  Conservatives.  Then  he  pointed  to 
his  father's  grave  in  a  square  garden-enclosure  ad- 
joining the  house;  it  was  a  white  shaft,  simply  in- 
scribed with  a  Bible  verse  and  his  name.  The 
daughter  of  Sen  is  married  to  the  rajah  of  Cooch 
Bahar,  one  of  the  richest  and  most  European  of  na- 
tive princes.  The  maharanee,  dressed  in  a  white  bro- 
caded sari,  with  a  rivQre  of  diamonds  and  pearls, — 
a  very  large,  handsome  woman,  very  self-possessed,  — • 
was  in  charge  of  a  stall,  and  sold  her  wares  with  all 


CALCUTTA. 


119 


the  coquetry  and  attraction  of  an  English  woman. 
\Vc  were  told  that  Sen  was  more  of  a  Unitarian 
than  an}-thing  else,  and  that  the  Brahmos  gave  the 
missionaries  more  trouble  than  orthodox  Hindus ; 
also,  that  many  of  his  so-called  "reforms"  were  in 
reality  only  in  name;  and  though  he  discounte- 
nanced child-marriage,  Keshub  Chunder  Sen  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  of  marrying  his  daughter  as 
a  child  to  the  rich  rajah.  The  Brahmo-Somaj  has 
suffered  since  Sen's  death  from  a  division  in  the 
ranks.  Mosemdhal,  the  right-hand  man  of  his  mas- 
ter, wished  to  occupy  his  vacant  place ;  but  Sen's 
son  objected  to  any  person  taking  his  father's  pulpit, 
saying,  ''  My  father  once  present  there,  is  always 
present."  Keshub  Chunder  Sen  was  educated  in 
England,  where  he  is  said  to  have  once  preached 
from  a  text  taken  from  seven  different  religions. 

The  social  question  now  most  -discussed  every- 
where in  India  is  **  Hindu  Child-Marriage  "  and  the 
"  Age-of-Conscnt  Bill."  It  seems  to  be  the  impres- 
sion that  a  rebellion  must  come  one  day  to  India, 
and  that  it  will  be  caused  by  the  English  lack  of 
decision  and  firmness  in  dealing  with  the  question 
of  "  child-marriage,"  which  is  so  clearly  wrong  to 
the  best  interests  of  India.  The  reports  published 
are  exaggerated,  and  do  not  really  represent  the 
opinions  of  the  native  women  in  the  zenanas,  who 
are  most  anxiously  awaiting  some   relief.     In  olden 


120  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

times,  before  Mahometan  rule  began  in  North- 
ern India,  the  women  had  greater  freedom  than 
those  of  civiHzed  nations  in  the  choice  of  a  husband. 
Now,  the  Mahometan  custom  of  early  marriages 
is  engrafted  in  that  most  susceptible  of  religions, 
Hinduism,  and  exaggerated  into  making  a  child  a 
bride. 

Calcutta  is  not  pretty,  or  even  picturesque,  —  a 
long,  flat  city,  not  much  more  than  a  mile  wide, 
stretching  for  a  space  of  seven  miles  along  the 
banks  of  the  river  Hugh,  a  slow  and  muddy  branch 
of  the  greater  Ganges.  There  is  only  one  good 
street,  —  wide,  well-paved,  and  shady.  This  is  in  the 
European  quarter;  and  here  are  to  be  found  the  fine 
houses  that  have  given  to  Calcutta  the  name  of  the 
City  of  Palaces.  The  Doric  columns,  broad  veran- 
das, and  windows  with  balconies  surrounding  them, 
make  the  place  attractive.  And  then  there  is  the 
vtaidan,  —  a  plain  about  a  mile  and  a  quarter  long, 
between  the  river  and  the  fort, —  where  the  races 
take  place ;  and  the  Eden  Gardens,  the  Rotten  Row 
of  Calcutta,  where  the  driving  rolls  along  in  the  after- 
noon. The  native  streets  are  narrow,  dirty,  and 
crowded.  They  are  lined  with  native  shops  ;  and  the 
first  thing  that  attracts  your  attention  is  the  way  in 
which  everything  a  man  has  to  sell  is  in  full  view 
of  the  passer-by.  There  are  no  windows,  in  which 
the    best  specimens  are   arranged   as  attractively  as 


CALCUTTA.  121 

possible;  but  the  shopkeeper  sits,  or  stands,  be- 
hind his  goods,  ahvays  smoking  his  hookah.  The 
shops  are  open  early  in  the  morning,  and  are  closed 
about  eleven  o'clock,  at  which  time  the  merchant 
leaves  for  his  bath  and  breakfast.  In  the  after- 
noon about  two  o'clock  they  re-open,  and  remain 
so  until  nine  or  ten  in  the  evening.  Bengalis  and 
other  natives  are  the  only  customers ;  and  so  small 
are  many  of  the  transactions  of  the  shopkeepers 
that  shells  are  used  as  money.  The  houses  of  the 
poor  people  are  built  of  mud  or  matting,  with 
thatched  roofs.  They  have  no  windows,  only  little 
grated  openings  to  admit  air  and  light;  and  here 
caste  obliges  them  to  live  as  they  have  always  lived. 
The  shoemakers  form  a  quarter,  the  jewellers  an- 
other, and  the  brass-workers,  like  their  fathers  be- 
fore them,  hammer  and  tinker  in  the  brass  bazaar. 
The  Bengalis  are  very  clever,  and  crowd  the  gov- 
ernment colleges,  so  anxious  are  they  to  pass  the 
examination  and  become  eligible  for  government  ser- 
vice. Calcutta  is  certainly  the  Oxford  of  India, — 
a  great  university  centre.  The  Bengalis  learn  Eng- 
lish very  readily,  and  their  study  of  the  language  is 
far  more  profound  and  earnest  than  that  of  college 
boys  in  England.  And  a  native  who  knows  English 
will  generally  wish  his  wives  to  be  educated,  which 
accounts  for  the  success  of  zenana  work  in  India. 


122  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

January  25. 

From  a  balcony,  in  clear  warm  sunshine,  under  an 
Eastern  sky,  with  the  noble  figures  of  Arabians,  Per- 
sians, and  Indians,  in  brilliant  cashmeres,  thronging 
the  streets,  we  witnessed  the  entree  into  Calcutta  of 
the  czarowitch.  All  day  the  excitement  was  intense, 
for  the  Indian  people  dearly  love  a  *'  tomasha,"  and 
were  formerly  ruled  by  pageants.  Only  in  the  East 
can  one  witness  such  a  glorious  spectacle.  Just  be- 
yond us  is  Government  House,  a  great,  yellow  stucco 
Versailles,  surrounded  by  parks  and  fountains;  while 
from  the  high  gateways,  topped  by  the  British  lions, 
stretches  a  gold  and  red  line  of  the  queen's  soldiers 
along  the  esplanade  to  the  station,  where  twenty-one 
guns  are  sounded  as  the  czarowitch  touches  the  In- 
dian soil.  And  soon,  down  Calcutta's  broad  streets, 
between  the  guard's  presented  arms,  came  the 
mounted  body-guard  of  the  viceroy,  the  crack  corps 
of  India,  —  splendid  natives  in  red  uniforms,  and  gold 
twisted  turbans  covering  their  dark  heads.  Most  ef- 
fective in  the  procession  were  long  slender  flag-poles 
with  tiny  red  and  white  flags,  each  lancer  holding  one 
with  the  right  hand,  and  managing  a  fractious  Ara- 
bian horse  with  the  other.  Then  the  heroes  of  Indian 
wars  rode  by,  flashing  with  silver  and  red  decorations. 

And  now  comes  a  pause  in  the  procession;  then 
all  the  people  wave  and  cheer  frantically.  Six 
horses    appear,   ridden   by  flag-lancers,  drawing   the 


CALCUTTA.  123 

State  carriage,  in  which  is  seated  Lord  Lansdovvne  in 
uniform,  and  beside  him,  the  blond,  young  czaro- 
witch.  He  wears  his  silver  Russian  helmet,  on  the 
front  of  which  is  a  white  and  silver  aigrette  twelve 
inches  high,  a  blue  and  silver-embroidered  uniform, 
and  a  braided  white-cloth  jacket  edged  with  sable 
thrown  over  one  shoulder.  His  expression  is  unaf- 
fected and  dignified.  More  state  carriages  and  mag- 
nificent trappings  are  coming;  and  Prince  George  of 
Greece  and  two  other  princes  ride  by,  each  having 
outriders  and  postilions,  followed  by  the  artillery, 
making  a  clanking,  war-like  sound  in  passing.  Close 
in  the  rear  follows  a  man,  the  most  concerned  of 
them  all,  the  anxious  and  worried  chief  of  police, 
on  whom  rests  the  tremendous  responsibility  for  the 
safety  in  India  of  the  poor  hunted  czarowitch.  (I 
give  you  a  choice  of  spelling;  the  prince's  luggage 
is  labelled,  "  Le  Casarewitch.")  Woe  unto  England, 
if  any  nihilistic  attempt  should  succeed  here  ! 

"  So  passed  they  through  the  gates "  of  Gov- 
ernment House.  And  soon  after  appeared  a  cor- 
tege of  Indian  princes,  —  the  rajahs  of  ancient 
line,  whose  coaches  have  a  passive  look  about  the 
linings  and  painted  panels.  But  the  princes  them- 
selves !  —  the  descendants  of  padishahs,  the  nawabs 
of  Bengal,  the  guicowars,  and  the  peshwas,  whose 
draperies,  overloaded  with  jewels  and  heavy  em- 
broideries,  outrival    even   the    priestly  vestments  of 


124  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

Catholic  countries.  And  up  and  down  Calcutta 
streets  stretches  a  long  vista  of  color,  —  Cashmerian 
colors,  in  purple  and  red  effects,  *'  like  a  vast  bed  of 
tulips,"  —  for  the  order  had  been  given  that  all  the 
town  should  keep  high  festival.  A  scene  of  Eastern 
splendor  past  all  imagination.  No  doubt,  all  this 
time  the  imperial  visitor  is  vainly  longing  for  his 
tub,  and  a  cup  of  Russian  tea;  but  we  are  taking 
ours,   and   must  rest  for  the  ball  to-night. 

January  26. 
"The  Aide-de-camp  of  the  Viceroy  of  India  commands 
your  presence,  Monday  evening,  January  26,  to  meet  His 
Imperial  Highness,  the  Czarowitch." 

The  clock  was  striking  ten  as  we  followed  Shanker 
and  his  best  red  turban  down  the  steps  of  the  Great 
Eastern  to  our  barouche,  where  we  found  two  dingy 
Eastern  servants  salaaming  before  the  open  carriage 
door.  When  we  are  seated  inside,  they  mount  be- 
hind, and  look  as  dignified  and  important  as  postilions 
could  possibly  appear,  with  bare  black  legs  wrapped 
to  the  knees  in  dusky  muslin,  green  coats,  and  huge 
white  muslin  turbans.  Shanker  springs  on  to  the 
box,  and  we  fall  in  line  with  a  stream  of  Calcutta's 
private  carriages,  advancing  slowly  along  the  softly 
lighted  quarter  of  a  mile,  which  stretches  from  the 
viceroy's  park  gates. 

Red-coated  servants,  with  yellow  and  red  rope- 
twisted    turbans    and    gold    waistbands,    show    the 


CALCUTTA.  125 

way  to  the  anteroom,  where  we  leave  coats  and 
wraps.  Flowers  and  palms  line  the  wide  corri- 
dors, and  more  red-coated  servants  flank  the  en- 
trance to  the  reception-room,  where  we  find  Lady 
Lansdowne,  with  the  czarowitch  and  foreign  princes 
at  her  side.  She  is  tall,  very  slender,  and  high- 
bred ;  wears  a  long  silvery  gray  gown,  with  ropes  of 
handsome  pearls  about  her  neck.  The  czarowitch 
seems  the  very  perfection  of  unaffected  simplicity 
and  good-natured  manners,  —  blond,  blue-eyed,  and 
boyish. 

The  ballroom  blazes  with  light  and  color.  The 
polished  floor  throws  back  the  reflection  of  the 
brilliant  lights,  and  makes  constellations  of  star-like 
jets  between  the  polished  marble  columns  which 
lined  the  ballroom.  The  room  is  filled  with  a  mov- 
ing throng  of  glittering  nationalities.  The  glim- 
mer of  gorgeous  raiment  and  the  flashes  of  jewels 
of  fabulous  value  look  like  a  dream  of  the  "  Arabian 
Nights."  Native  princes,  maharajahs,  and  chieftains 
sparkle  and  glitter  with  gems  and  embroideries. 
Here  is  Cooch  Bahar,  a  rajah  of  rajahs  in  Bengal. 
He  wears  a  most  wonderful  diamond  tiara,  fastened 
just  above  his  forehead  in  a  white-silk  turban,  coiled 
about  his  head  until  hair,  forehead,  ears,  all,  are  com- 
pletely covered ;  and  a  collar  of  large  diamonds  falls 
from  his  throat  in  gleaming  strands  until  it  reaches 
his  shoulders.     An  embroidered  white  cashmere  coat 


126  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

extended  to  his  knees.  The  maharanee,  daughter  of 
Chunder  Sen,  is  here,  in  a  strange  mixture  of  barbaric 
and  civiHzed  dress.  She  is  the  only  emancipated 
rajah's  wife  in  India.  Her  husband,  educated  at 
Cambridge,  insisted  on  making  a  love-match  at  eigh- 
teen with  a  girl  whose  father  was  once  a  clerk  in  a 
Bengal  bank,  although  the  founder  of  the  Brahmo- 
Somaj.  A  fascinating,  dark-skinned  prince,  who  be- 
longs to  an  historical  family  of  Mysore,  is  presented 
to  us, —  Shahzada  Mahomet  Furrokshah,  grandson 
of  Tippoo,  the  prince  who  made  the  English  un- 
der Wellesley  suffer  defeat  in  the  Deccan.  Just 
shut  your  eyes,  and  in  fancy  you  hear  the  most  cul- 
tivated English  voice  speaking  to  you.  Open  them, 
and  before  you  is  a  tall,  dark  man,  with  glistening 
teeth,  lustrous  eyes,  and  exquisite  manners,  showing 
his  barbarian  ancestry  in  the  high  black  velvet  cap, 
with  a  broad  rim  of  diamonds  and  emeralds  entirely 
encircling  it.  A  blazing  star  just  in  front  holds  a 
white  aigrette,  tipped  with  diamonds  and  rubies. 
But,  above  all,  look  at  the  ruby  which  is  hanging  just 
over  his  brows ;  and  fancy  the  diamond  chain  and 
collar  which  keep  the  neck  quite  as  stiff  as  a  pillory, 
and  look  as  uncomfortable.  Think  of  the  gold-belted, 
gem-studded  robe,  and  hear  this  diamond  prince 
speaking  the  most  polished  English  and  paying 
graceful  compliments  in  the  most  civilized  way;  im- 
agine many  rajahs,  haughty,  silent,  and  solemn,  even 


CALCUTTA.  127 

more  bejewelled,  with  studded  swords  attached  by 
diamond  chains,  resembling  gayly-dressed  puppets  in 
a  masquerade,  —  and  you  can  fancy  now  what  the 
wealth  of  the  Indies  really  means. 

The  transition  state  from  barbaric  clothes  to  civil- 
ized dress  in  the  East  is  certainly  amusing.  One 
rajah  reminds  us  of  a  dull  moth-worm  just  emerg- 
ing to  the  butterfly  state.  The  high,  three- storied, 
diamond  crown  of  his  ancestors  is  perched  in  Ori- 
ental manner  above  his  long  silky  black  hair.  He 
still  wears  the  native  robe  of  white  embroidered  cash- 
mere, fitting  tight  to  the  waist  and  full  to  the  knee, 
where  it  meets  a  pair  of  black-and-white  checked 
trousers,  and  patent  leather  ties  fresh  from  Regent 
Street.  An  Oriental  priest  of  the  Greek  church 
towers  above  them  all,  by  reason  of  the  small  smoke- 
stack on  his  head,  draped  in  purple  like  his  plain 
trailing  robes.  A  massive  gold  chain  hangs  to  his 
waist,  with  a  blazing  Greek  cross.  The  Burmese  are 
as  quaint  and  unlike  other  people  as  possible.  The 
little  Burmese  princesses  are  short,  very  brown,  and 
look  very  unhappily  out  of  their  beady  black  eyes 
at  this  new  element  of  European  life  in  which  they 
move.  The  flash  of  uniforms,  the  dazzling  red-and- 
gold  coats  of  officers  of  European  and  native  regi- 
ments, the  jewels  of  the  Europeans,  clash,  sparkle, 
scintillate  in  dazzling  visions.  Alone,  unequalled  in 
magnificence,  a  ball  at  the  viceroy's  is  the  meeting  of 


128  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

centuries  of  Oriental  despotism  with  the  representa- 
tives of  the  world's  highest  civilization  ;  and  it  seems 
to  me  the  link  between  the  past  and  the  present  is 
the  young  czarowitch,  —  a  Caesar,  and  at  the  same 
time  a  father  of  his  people. 

January  28. 

A  delicious  impression  remains  of  a  lovely  after- 
noon, —  a  drive  through  lawns  so  close  and  green 
and  carpet-like  that  one  would  fancy  it  was  England ; 
an  England  where  palms  and  pomisetta  shrubbery 
are  flourishing  out  of  doors  in  January.  It  was  the 
afternoon  of  the  garden-party  at  Government  House, 
—  a  "  tomasha"  of  such  importance  that  all  Calcutta 
had  worn  an  expectant  look  for  days.  We  stopped  in 
front  of  a  large  carpeted  tent,  where  the  red-coated 
band  played,  and  where  groups  of  girls  in  pretty 
muslins  and  men  in  every  style  of  Oriental  and 
civilized  garb  walked  together  over  the  paths  and 
through  the  flowering  trees  of  that  rich  tropical 
garden.  In  the  centre  of  it  was  the  vice-regal 
party, —  Lord  and  Lady  Lansdowne,  the  Highland 
aides-de-camp,  and  the  Russian  czarowitch,  dressed 
like  an  English  gentleman.  The  glamour  gone,  one 
begins  to  criticise :  his  neck  is  large  ;  he  has  a  pallid 
complexion  ;  you  discover  he  is  a  small  man  with- 
out that  heavy  uniform  and  fur-edged  cape.  What  a 
surprise !  However,  the  trace  of  sweetness  and 
gentleness    is    still   there,  and    his    lips    curl   with    a 


CALCUTTA.  129 

certain  hauteur;  and,  above  all,  he  is  self-possessed 
and  brave,  —  unconsciously  so.  From  a  tent,  tea 
and  cakes  are  served  in  profusion,  with  wines  and 
ices.  Standing  near  us  is  Sen,  transformed  from 
the  white  draped  figure  of  yesterday,  in  a  classic 
Bengali  dress,  to  a  European  cockney,  cast  in 
bronze. 

January  29. 

Morning,  early  morning,  with  a  fresh  and  lovely 
breeze,  and  worth  the  effort  made  to  get  out  of  bed 
to  enjoy  it.  B.  and  I  walked  forty  minutes  in  and 
around  the  Eden  Gardens  of  Government  House, 
meeting  galloping  steeds,  ridden  by  the  fortunates, 
whom  I  could  hardly  resist  asking  to  dismount, 
that  I  might  once  more  tear  around  on  a  dear 
horse.  This  afternoon  was  race-day,  and  we  went 
to  the  meetinor  of  the  Calcutta  Turf  Club,  —  the 
races  where  the  rich  nabobs  of  Bengal  appeared 
most  unsportsmanlike  in  gorgeous  velvet  and  satin 
robes,  heavy  with  embroideries,  with  cashmere 
shawls  thrown  scarf-like  over  their  shoulders.  I 
cannot  say  much  for  the  appointments,  stand,  etc. ; 
but  the  course  was  good,  and  the  horses  ran  well. 
W.  M.  Bcresford's  colors  —  light  blue  and  black 
cap — were  popular,  but  unfortunate.  The  horses 
and  ponies  were  from  Australia ;  hardly  any  others 
could  endure  the  climate. 

At  five  o'clock  every  evening  all  Calcutta  goes 
9 


130  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

forth  in  fine  array  to  hear  the  military  band  play  in 
the  Eden  Gardens;  and  it  befell  us  also  to  spend 
one  hour  there  among  the  blossoms  and  over- 
spreading trees.  And  when  the  sun  first  tinges  all 
Nature  with  its  mellow  tinted  light,  and  then  hastens 
away  behind  the  western  hills,  and  men's  shadows 
lengthen  as  the  days  decrease ;  and  when  the  music 
pauses,  and  you  hear  in  the  hedges  *'  the  lemon 
petals  gently  fall  within  the  windless  Indian  night," 
and  all  the  moving  throng  is  strangely  lulled  to  quiet 
by  the  spell  made  by  the  moonbeams,  and  saddened 
as  if  some  wistful,  unknown  dream  had  shaped  itself 
in  thought,  —  suddenly  at  our  side  bends  a  dark- 
eyed  Indian  prince  in  salutation,  who  is,  though 
dowered   by  birth  with   proud   descent, 

" In  speech 
Right  gentle,  yet  so  wise  ;  princely  of  mien, 
Yet  softly-mannered;  modest,  deferent. 
And  tender-hearted,  though  of  fearless  blood." 

Taking  inspiration  from  the  scene,  he  speaks  to  us  of 
Nature  and  the  glories  of  the  Himalayas,  and  beauty; 
and  ending,  wishes  for  us  good  fortune  and  a  safe 
journey,   and   says,   "  Salaam." 

"  Salaam,  "  —  how  much  this  word  expresses  ! 
what  a  word,  a  language  in  itself!  in  how  many 
forms  it  comes  to  all, — sometimes,  oftentimes, 
bringing  gladness,  and  again  finishing,  forever, 
some    international    romance    begun    on    shipboard, 


CALCUTTA.  131 

and  in  the  tropics  of  Ceylon,  lingering  on  in 
India,  dying  slowly,  and  ending  with  the  message, 
"Salaam!"  "Salaam"  begins  the  day;  you  open 
your  eyes,  and  the  ayah  parts  the  purdahs,  bends 
her  black  and  dusky  head  over  the  pillow,  and 
smiles,  whispering,  "  Good-morning,  salaam."  Your 
*'  boy  "  comes  in  now  with  chota-hazri,  and  balancing 
the  tray  recklessly  with  one  hand,  bows  low  over  the 
tea  and  toast,  with  his  right  hand  moving  slowly 
from  his  eyes  down  to  the  waist,  and  repeats,  **  Sa- 
laam." After  hot  water  and  a  sponge  have  encour- 
aged you  for  a  day  of  rounds  of  excitement,  you 
leave  your  room ;  and  white-turbaned  dark  fig- 
ures rise  from  hidden  corners  up  and  down  the 
hall,  noiseless  as  magic,  and  bow  down  profoundly 
as  you  pass  —  "  Salaam."  You  are  now  going  for  a 
drive ;  and  from  the  hotel  entrance  ten  coolies 
start  off  to  volunteer  to  scare  up  a  palki,  and 
before  going,  stumble  over  one  another  in  one  pro- 
found *'  salaam."  The  blind  beggar,  whom  you 
have  almost  run  down  in  your  gJiarri}  or  who  sits 
on  his  ragged  mat  by  the  roadside,  is  imploring 
your  charity  in  a  beseeching  wail.  ''Salaam"  — 
'*  alms,"  he  moans,  —  "  give,  good  people,  or  I  die  !  " 
You  toss  a  pice  to  a  little  quaint  black  figure, 
whose  anatomy  is  all  visible,  with  no  vestige  of  a 
rag  for  clothing,  and  w^ho  has  earned  your  admiration 

1  Carriage. 


132  A    C/RL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

for  his  wonderful  running  of  miles  of  the  way,  keep- 
ing up  to  the  horses,  and  beating  his  little  chest  to 
indicate  hunger,  crying  between  breaths,  "  Salaam,  sa- 
laam !  "  You  have  sent  a  note  by  a  coolie  messenger ; 
it  was  received,  you  know  that.  The  answer  came, 
"My  compliments,  —  salaam.  We  have  it  in  the 
shops.  Shall  I  send  it  home  for  you,  Miss  Sahib? 
Very  well,  salaam."  We  are  driving  up  to  a  beau- 
tiful bungalow.  The  syce  jumps  down,  and  takes 
your  card,  moving  his  open  fingers  before  his  face 
on  receiving  it, — "salaam."  On  the  wide  veranda 
stand  our  friends.  The  servants  make  a  general 
"  salaam  "  in  concert  as  if  to  slow  music,  when  you 
enter  the  door  and  pass  into  the  house.  The  suave, 
polished  descendant  of  Mahomet  receives  you  in 
the  anteroom ;  and,  before  taking  your  offered  hand, 
bends  his  head  most  respectfully,  and  graciously 
says  in  greeting,  his  ancient,  time-honored  Maho- 
metan "  salaam."  A  beautiful  woman  is  sitting  on 
Persian  carpets,  in  the  midst  of  Oriental  hangings 
and  draperies ;  she  rises,  looks  down,  veils  her  beau- 
tiful face  with  one  jewelled  hand,  which  she  sweeps 
with  a  graceful  gesture  from  her  brows  down- 
ward. She  is  saying  your  welcome  to  her  house, 
that  you  may  enjoy  all  she  enjoys,  and  be  happy; 
and  what  she  almost  murmurs  in  softest  voice  is, 
*'  salaam."  The  gracious  lady's  soft-footed  Hindu 
women  move    gently  about   in  white  draperies,  and 


CALCUTTA.  133 

hand  you  tea  from  lovely  Eastern  cups;  they  ap- 
proach )'ou  almost  timidly  with  "  salaam."  In  the 
doorway,  in  silk  and  fine  muslin,  stands  the  ayah, 
in  whose  strong  arms,  tinkling  with  silver  bangles 
and  armlets,  is  the  beautiful  boy,  the  very  flesh-and- 
blood  idol  of  all  the  house  of  Seyd.  His  big  eyes 
are  sparkling  and  black  with  excitement  ;  his  short 
black  hair  is  smooth  under  a  silver-embroidered 
tight  cap.  From  his  head  to  his  feet,  the  royal 
little  fellow  is  wrapped  in  a  long,  purple  satin  coat, 
heavy  with  gold  embroidery,  and  brightly  lined 
with  gorgeous  gold  satin.  We,  the  first  Europeans 
his  dear  little  eyes  have  ever  seen,  must  be  properly 
saluted ;  and  baby's  wee  little  fingers,  dimpled  hands, 
and  wonderful  rings  close  over  the  grave,  small  face, 
and  in  childish  language  he  lisps,  *'  Talaam,  Mem 
Tahib."  One  really  wonders  if  a  Vedic  angel  will 
stand  on  the  summit  of  Mount  Meru,  and  dismiss 
the  wretched,  and  welcome  the  blest  into  the  heaven 
of  Indra,  with  a  well-worn  ''salaam."  "Salaam, 
good-by,"  —  I  shall  soon  say  this  with  sorrow  to 
India,  this  wonderful  India,  brilliant,  incomparable, 
romantic,  but  sad,  —  so  sad,  a  land  of  regrets  to 
many  hopeful  ones  with  lives  wrecked  in  the  service 
of  the  English  Empress  and  her  unappreciative 
government. 


134  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

BENARES   AND   THE   BRAHMINS. 

January  31. 

TT  is  Saturday  morning,  bright,  clear,  and  cloud- 
-*"  less,  as  only  this  Indian  climate  can  be  on  oc- 
casions. Thursday  evening,  at  half-past  nine,  we 
were  just  leaving  Calcutta,  driving  down  through 
the  maidan,  over  the  broad  road  across  the  Hugli 
Bridge,  and  into  a  roomy  railway-carriage  reserved 
for  us  at  the  station,  where  a  mattress  was  spread 
out  by  Shanker,  who  had  been  there  two  hours 
before,  attending  to  the  baggage,  —  faithful  dog 
that  he  is.  We  soon  went  to  sleep,  and,  like  the 
good  little  girl  in  the  song,  "knew  no  more  until 
the  break  of  day." 

At  six  o'clock  the  next  morning  we  found  we 
had  slept  through  the  great  Bengal  Presidency, 
and  were  opening  our  eyes  on  Oude,  the  ancient 
kingdom  where  so  many  great  Indian  kings  have 
lived  and  fought  their  battles.  With  laudable 
foresight,  Shanker  appears  with  a  brass  tray  and 
smoking  chai,  and  we  also  produce  some  good 
bread  and  jam  from  the   lunch-basket;   and  at  ten 


BEXAR ES  AXD    THE  BRAHMIXS.  135 

o'clock  we  met   Miss   S at   Mogul   Serai,    the 

junction  for  Allahabad  and  Benares.  Now  every 
moment  is  one  of  intense  excitement,  until  we  at 
last  cross  the  sacred  river  on  the  wide  arches  which 
span  it,  over  which  moves  a  constant  procession  of 
pilgrims,  each  one  carrying  in  one  hand  a  brass 
water- jug  and  a  rope-basket  of  cotton  meshes  con- 
taining some  rice  and  a  blanket,  slung  on  the  two 
ends  of  a  bamboo  pole  balanced  from  the  shoulder, 
and  in  the  other  hand  a  staff,  the  badge  of  pil- 
grimage; all  types,  all  grades,  limping  beggars 
and  haughty  rajahs,  all  with  one  thought,  one 
aim,  one  ambition, — to  reach  Benares,  the  Hindu 
Rome,   the  most  sacred  city  in  their  world. 

The  scene  never  changes.  The  multitudes  surge 
on  forever  like  great  waves,  now  and  then  receding, 
only  to  gain  new  forces  from  the  ocean  of  human- 
ity, which  is  rolling  on  while  we  sleep  and  when 
we  wake,  through  cold  and  hardship  undaunted;  for 
the  journey  is  a  path  to  heaven. 

Far  away,  over  the  level  plains  of  India,  you  see 
the  moving  line  of  pilgrims  marching  along  the 
dusty  high-roads,  and  filing  through  the  foot-paths 
which  bound  the  rice-fields.  From  the  ice-hills 
of  Thibet  they  come  to  breathe  the  parching  air 
of  Central  India,  —  almost  martyrs  to  the  faith. 
From  tropical  Ceylon  they  come,  suffering  horribly 
from  the  night  cold,  having   only  one   garment  of 


136  A    GIRL'S   WINTER   IN  INDIA. 

about  two  yards  of  muslin  for  protection.  Other 
poor  creatures  are  provided  with  quilted  comfort- 
ers, made  from  gay  cottons,  which  they  wrap  about 
the  head  and  body ;  but  their  legs  and  feet  are  bare 
as  in  the  hottest  summer  time.  In  the  city  streets 
trains  are  blocked  and  sometimes  delayed  for  hours 
by  the  rush  of  pilgrims,  and  many  thousands  en- 
camp about  the  open  squares  at  night.  Your  first 
thought  is  that  all  the  country  is  on  the  move ;  but 
you  finally  understand  the  meaning  of  it  all,  when 
in  some  holy  place  like  Benares  you  observe  the 
absolute  bliss  on  the  faces  of  those  poor  wretches 
who  have  at  last,  by  years  of  hoarding  and  saving, 
cruel  suffering  from  hunger  and  destitution  during 
the  journey,  entered  the  place  which  to  them  is 
the  "very  gate  of  heaven." 

After  a  drive  of  half  an  hour  through  the  canton- 
ment, we  pass  under  a  pretty  archway,  festooned 
with  vines,  and  arrive  in  front  of  Clark's  Hotel, 
situated  in  the  centre  of  quiet  gardens,  like  a  little 
summer-house  in  the  country.  After  tiffin  we  are 
beset  by  a  native  guide  in  yellow-striped  calico 
trousers  and  red-striped  coat  of  the  same  material, 
who,  having  picked  up  some  English  words,  salaams 
us  when  we  appear  at  the  open  door,  and  humbly 
beseeches  to  be  allowed  to  accompany  the  party, 
saying,  '*  What  is  one  rupee,  two  rupees,  to  your  re- 
spectable Highness.^  "  which  decides  us,  and  we  en- 


BENARES  AND    THE  BRAHMINS.  1 37 

gage  his  services  on  the  spot.  The  respect  Hindus 
have  for  Europeans  is  delightful.  We  are  always 
addressed  as  ''your  ladyship,"  except  sometimes, 
when  it  is  ''Mem  sahib,"  or  "Miss  sahib,"  which 
means  "young  lady;"  and  I  am  growing  so  accus- 
tomed to  this  side  of  the  world  that  I  shall  not  know 
how  to  conduct  myself  on  its  other  side.  In  this 
well  satisfied  state  of  mind,  the  obsequious  guide 
waiting,  we  discuss  the  question,  What  shall  we  see 
to-day.^  and  three  excited  voices  cry  out  at  once 
with  one  accord,  "The  Ganges."  Nothing  makes 
you  so  easily  realize  that  you  are  in  the  Antipodes 
as  this  mysterious  word,  especially  if  you  happen 
to  be  a  girl ;  and  you  recall  terrible  nursery  tales  of 
heathen  mothers  feeding  their  girl-babies  to  mon- 
ster crocodiles,  which  you  fancy  still  lie  on  the 
banks  "with  open,   smiling  jaws." 

This  river-worship  of  the  Hindus  is  beautifully 
described  in  the  oldest  epic  poem  of  India, ^  recit- 
ing the  conquests  of  the  mighty  god  Rama,  and  con- 
taining pictures  in  poetic  language,  — "the  descent 
of  the  laughing  and  tremulous  Ganga,  the  peerless 
daughter  of  Mena,  the  child  of  the  old  Himalaya." 
It  relates  that  once  upon  a  time,  the  valiant  King 
Sagara  wished  to  make  a  sacrifice:  — 

"  But,  lo !  when  all  was  prepared,  when  the  sacred 

1  The  Iliad  of  the  East,  —  a  selection  of  legends  drawn  from  Val- 
miki's  Sanscrit  poem  the  Ramayana,  by  Frederika  Richardson. 


138  A    GIRL'S    WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

wood  was  piled,  and  the  torch  that  yearned  to  con- 
sume it  flamed  in  the  hands  of  a  priest,  a  serpent, 
under  the  form  of  Ananta,  rose  from  the  midst  of 
the  ground,  and  seizing  the  sacred  horse,  the  victim 
promised  to  Brahma,  disappeared  with  it,  —  swal- 
lowed up  by  the  yawning  earth.  Surprise  fell  on 
the  monarch  Sagara;  as  for  the  Rishis  and  Brah- 
mins and  saintly  anchorites,  they  were  filled  with 
hot  indignation. 

"  Then  the  brow  of  the  monarch  grew  red  as  the 
bolts  of  the  flaming  Indra.  'What  would  you  have 
me  do.^'  asked  this  furious  tiger  of  men.  'There 
are  sixty  thousand  heroes  who  call  Sagara  "father." 
Summon  my  sons  forthwith,'  shouted  this  enraged 
ruler  of  men. 

"Then  these  sixty  thousand  princes  came  in 
haste,  and  found  their  magnanimous  parent  lying 
with  his  face  in  the  dust,  howling  and  biting  the 
dust  like  an  elephant  struck  by  the  hunter.  They 
joined  hands  around  him,  and  reverently  performed 
a  pradakshina.  Then  they  asked  what  had  shaken 
the  balance  of  his  equable  humor. 

"'Slay  me  this  ravisher  of  the  horse,'  moaned 
forth  the  prostrate  monarch.  'We  will, '  replied  in 
one  breath  the  sixty  thousand  heroes.  At  that  the 
relieved   Sagara  rolled  no  more  in  the  dust. 

"The  sixty  thousand  sons  of  Sagara  explored  the 
land  far  and  wide;   with  lances,  pickaxes,  and  clubs 


BENAKES  AND    THE  BRAHMINS.  1 39 

they  threw  up  the  earth  and  examined  it;  but  no- 
where could  these  indefatigable  heroes  discover  a 
trace  of  their  enemy. 

**  But  broken  by  axes  and  spades,  hewed  and 
hacked  and  wofully  injured,  her  innocent  bosom 
gashed  and  mangled,  the  harmless  goddess  Prith- 
ivi  mutely  appealed  to  Heaven.  A  dolorous  cry 
mounted  up  from  serpents  and  lizards  and  beetles 
and  myriads  of  living  creatures  whom  the  furious 
zeal  of  the  heroes  had  wounded  and  maimed. 
'Eternal  Brahm,'  they  sobbed,  'deign  to  help  us. 
Thou  hast  given  us  being;  it  is  thine  essence 
which  quickens  our  blood.' 

"Then  the  Eternal  Fount  of  Existence  answered 
them,  gravely  smiling:  'Out  of  evil  comes  good. 
These  Sagarides  who  destroy  life  shall  have  their 
own  lives  taken  from  them;  but  from  this  act  of 
theirs  shall  follow  a  blessing,  —  the  bountiful,  fe- 
cund, young  Ganga  shall  bring  her  fresh  bubbling 
waters  to  rejoice  the  hearts  of  all  creatures.* 

"The  illustrious  ruler  of  men,  the  anxious  mon- 
arch Sagara,  called  to  him  the  youthful  Ansumat, 
whose  limbs  were  like  young  fir-trees.  'Thy  uncles 
are  long  in  coming,'  he  said  to  the  youthful  war- 
rior; 'my  son,  go  in  search  of  thy  uncles,  and  bid 
them  return  here  swiftly.  My  heart  misgives  me, 
Ansumat ;  bid  them  return  very  swiftly. ' 

"And  so  the  valiant  young  warrior  went  forth  to 


140  A    GIRL'S    WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

seek  for  his  uncles.  The  lordly  Virupaksha,  the 
magnanimous  Mahapadma,  the  robust  Saumanas, 
the  sublime  Himapandura,  all  greeted  the  nephew 
of  sixty  thousand  uncles,  and  gave  him  news  of  his 
relatives.  But  when  the  indefatigable  youth  reached 
the  infernal  regions  and  beheld  the  state  of  his  un- 
cles, he  fell  on  his  face  on  the  ground,  uttering  the 
most  dolorous  shrieks. 

"  Having  bemoaned  with  tears  and  loud  wailings 
the  fate  of  these  illustrious  Sagarides,  Ansumat 
looked  round  him  anxiously  for  water  with  which 
to  lave  the  cinders  of  these  unfortunate  heroes ;  for 
unless  cleansed  by  lustrous  waters,  the  dead  are  not 
admitted  into  paradise,  the  defilement  of  earthly  pas- 
sions rendering  them  unfit  for  the  celestial  abode. 
Looking  round,  Ansumat  perceived,  perched  on  the 
topmost  bough  of  an  acacia-tree,  Garuda,  the  king 
of  all  the  birds.  'Do  not  afflict  yourself,  most 
illustrious  of  men,'  said  this  magnanimous  bird. 
'Thy  sons  cannot  enter  paradise  till  purified  by  the 
ceremony  of  lustrous  waters;  but  this  shall  not  take 
place  until  the  Ganga  shall  quit  the  celestial  re- 
gions and  bring  her  sparkling  wavelets  to  rejoice 
the  inhabitants  of  the  world.' 

''  For  the  space  of  one  thousand  years  the  afflicted 
monarch  Sagara  strove  vainly  to  find  some  means 
of  inducing  the  beautiful  Ganga  to  abandon  the 
house  of  the  e:ods.     At  length  Bhagiratha,  the  mag- 


BE.VAKES  A. YD    THE   BRAHMINS.  I41 

nanimous  son  of  Dilipa,  abandoning  his  throne  and 
the  city,  embraced  the  career  of  an  anchorite  on 
the  wild  slopes  of  the  old  Himalaya.  Clad  in  a 
garment  of  skins,  his  head  bared  to  the  humors  of 
heaven,  keeping  his  passions  in  check,  subsisting 
only  on  roots,  alike  tortured  by  heat  and  by  cold,  did 
the  saintly  anchorite  importune  the  aid  of  the  gods 
by  the  spectacle  of  his  self-imposed  sufferings. 

"At  the  close  of  one  thousand  years,  Brahma, 
the  merciful  guardian  of  men,  appeared  to  him. 
'Cease  these  inhuman  macerations,'  said  the  god. 
'What  is  your  request,  Bhagiratha?'  'That  these 
sixty  thousand  heroes  might  at  length  enter  upon 
their  bliss,'  replied  this  worthy  ancestor  of  Rama; 
'that  the  Ganga  might  bring  her  purifying  waters 
here  below. '  'Your  request  is  a  hard  one,'  answered 
Brahma ;  '  for  if  the  Ganga  were  to  fall  on  the 
earth,  her  turbulent  waters  would  overwhelm  the 
world. ' 

"  For  another  hundred  years  the  saintly  Bhagi- 
ratha continued  his  self-macerations.  At  the  close 
of  that  time,  Mahadeva  appeared  to  the  king  of 
ascetics,  and  said,  'I  am  content,  O  most  virtu- 
ous of  men.  I  will  sustain  this  river  of  purifying 
waters.  I  will,  too,  induce  this  bride  of  the  im- 
mortals to  quit  her  celestial  home. ' 

"Then  the  glorious  and  generous  immortal 
climbed  the  brow  of  the  old  Himalaya,  and  called 


142  A    GIRVS    WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

to  the  fanciful  Ganga,  the  queen  amongst  beautiful 
rivers:  'O  child  of  the  old  Himalaya,  whom  the 
arms  of  Prithivi  once  cradled!  this  breast  where 
then  thou  didst  slumber  is  parched  with  a  fever- 
ish thirst;  therefore  descend.  O  Ganga,  Bride  of 
the  heavens!  thy  home  is  full  of  delight;  the  air  is 
heavy  with  perfumes;  the  mirthful  apsaras  flit  joy- 
ously hither  and  thither;  the  strains  of  the  dreamy 
gandharvas  thrill  every  year  with  rapture.  The  light 
here  is  golden,  yet  soft ;  the  shade  here  is  languid, 
yet  warm ;  and  the  gods  who  dwell  here  are  happy. ' 

"Then  the  large  heart  of  the  Ganga  started  and 
throbbed  in  her  bosom;  and  without  pause  or  re- 
flection, the  generous  queen  of  all  rivers  rushed 
from  the  home  of  the  gods  in  a  burst  of  impetuous 
passion,  singing,  *I  come,  O  beloved!  doubly  be- 
loved for  thy  sorrow.'  Stepping  forward,  the  gen- 
erous Siva,  in  whose  sight  life  is  precious,  received 
the  great  rush  of  waters,  and  upheld  on  his  fore- 
head the  impulsive  daughter  of  Mena,  that  in  her 
generous  fervor  she  might  not  overwhelm  the  earth. 
The  gods,  the  Rishis  and  Brahmins,  the  Asuras, 
the  Siddhas  and  Nagas,  and  all  the  hosts  of  earth 
and  of  heaven,  came  to  witness  this  marvellous 
sight, —  the  joyous  descent  of  the  Ganga." 

For  a  mile  we  drive  through  the  native  bazaars. 
Here  may  be  found  busy  people  working  at  various 
trades.     It  is  marvellous  how  much  the  natives  can 


BEXAKES  AND    THE  BRAHMIXS.  143 

manage  to  do  with  their  feet  and  toes.  Here,  in 
the  tailor  quarter,  are  the  dhurzies  sewing  indus- 
triously long  breadths  of  beautiful  silk,  one  end  of 
which  they  hold  with  their  toes.  A  native  cook  is 
also  said  to  be  very  expert  in  this  direction,  and 
can  make  curry  extremely  well,  using  feet  instead 
of  hands.  We  leave  the  carriage  at  the  river,  and 
follow  a  flight  of  eighty  steps,  leading  to  the  won- 
derful  Ghauts. 

One  first  sees  Benares  from  the  river,  and  no 
better  view  of  it  is  possible  to  be  obtained.  The 
city  is  built  on  a  crescent  turn  of  the  Ganges, 
on  cliffs  eighty  or  ninety  feet  high;  and  the  as- 
tonishing effect  produced  by  miles  of  stone  steps 
descending  from  the  heights  above,  crowned  with 
palaces,  temples,  and  mosques,  —  some  in  good 
preservation,  others  stained,  broken,  and  fallen 
into  the  river, —  is  not  like  anything  else  in  the 
world.  Rich  rajahs  have  built  palaces  here,  which 
they  occupy  periodically,  as  other  people  have 
country-homes  in  different  places;  but  the  chief 
purpose  of  their  annual  visit  to  Benares  is  to 
wash  away  sins  contracted  in  less  holy  places. 
The  muddy  and  dirty  Ganges  seems  to  bear  wit- 
ness to  the  blackness  of  the  aforesaid  sins.  A 
stream  of  flowers  is  constantly  floating  down  the 
current  of  the  river,  —  offerings  made  by  the  Hin- 
dus to  the  Goddess  of  the  Water. 


144  ^    GIRTS    WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

At  the  bathing  Ghaut  there  were  hundreds  of 
pilgrims  performing  the  most  sacred  act  of  their 
religion.  Watching  one  man  very  particularly,  we 
could  see  him  wriggle  and  twist  in  the  water, 
point  his  hands  together,  and  bend  his  head  very 
solemnly;  take  the  water  into  the  mouth,  eject  it; 
place  some  in  the  hollow  of  the  hand,  and  offer  it 
to  the  sun,  the  north,  south,  east,  and  west;  clap 
it  on  the  forehead,  pat  his  head  very  devoutly,  and 
genuflect  like  an  Italian  in  Naples;  then  wash  in 
the  river  his  two  pieces  of  linen,  the  one  for  the 
head  and  the  other  for  the  body;  and  afterwards 
perform  the  most  meritorious  act  of  all, —  drink 
the  water,  and  carry  it  away  in  lotas,  perhaps  many 
hundreds  of  miles,  to  be  used  for  his  devotions 
until  the  next  pilgrimage.  We  see  men  here  who 
have  been  twelve  years  doing  the  holy  shrines  of 
India,  now  wretched  beggars,  most  miserable  and 
poor,  but  fanatically  happy. 

I  bought  for  half  a  rupee,  from  a  pilgrim  who 
had  just  left  the  river,  a  worn  brass  jar  which  he 
had  just  filled  with  the  Ganges  water.  Perhaps 
this  same  lota  has  travelled  many  miles  of  In- 
dian highways.  Well,  now  that  I  have  it,  it  must 
be  put  to  a  baser  use,  —  in  adorning  an  American 
home. 

Farther  on,  boats  were  rowing  slowly  out  in  the 
stream,  with  groups  of  devotional  Hindus  carrying 


BEXAKES  AND    THE   BRAHMINS.  1 45 

jars  of  brass,  which  they  fill  with  flowers,  and  pour 
out  in  offerings  to  the  river.  On  all  sides  were 
brightly  painted  floats,  with  wedding  parties  on 
board, —  bright,  jewelled  women  and  their  bride- 
grooms and  friends,  all  wearing  flower  necklaces 
about  their  throats ;  and  there  were  other  holy  men 
washing;  and  more  women  with  bright  brass  jars 
praying  beside  the  sacred  waters,  —  the  whole  scene 
lighted  up  by  an  Eastern  sun,  bringing  out  the 
dazzling  colors  of  the  dress  of  the  people,  and  the 
gilded  domes  of  mosques  and  temples  tipped  in 
curious  ornaments.  This  wealth  of  architectural 
glories  on  the  river-front  is  amazing,  unsurpassed; 
making  one  continually  call  out  in  exclamations 
of  wonder  and  surprise. 

Finally  we  sail  past  the  pilgrims  a  mile  or  more 
toward  the  burning  Ghaut.  High  on  the  bank 
are  groups  of  women  wailing  and  lamenting,  "  Call 
on  Rama,  brothers!  Rama,  O  Rama,  Rama!  hear;" 
and  in  a  hollow  ravine  below  are  three  bodies 
prepared  for  burning.  One  is  close  to  the  water's 
edge,  piled  high  with  fagots;  and  five  times  around 
the  pyre  is  going  a  man,  the  nearest  male  rel- 
ative to  the  dead  one.  His  head  is  shaven 
closely,  except  for  one  long  lock;  and  with  a 
brand  of  burning  straw  he  lights  the  wood  heaped 
up  about  the  corpse,  and  "sets  the  red  flame  to  the 
corners  four,  which  crept  and  licked  and  flickered, 

10 


146  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

finding  out  his  flesh  and  feeding  on  it  with  swift, 
hissing  tongues."  Another  pyre  is  smouldering, 
stirred  up  occasionally  by  the  priests;  and,  horror 
of  horrors !  pariah  dogs  close  by,  who  complete  the 
unfinished  destruction  of  the  body  by  fire.  Our 
guide  said  it  was  very  costly  to  burn, —  seven 
rupees,  eight  annas;  but  our  companion  said  she 
burned  her  servants  for  one  rupee.  Only  children 
and  the  very  poor  are  thrown  into  the  river;  and 
sometimes  when  rowing  one  comes  up  to  a  dead 
body  with  half  a  dozen  crows  perched  on  it.  One 
often  sees  people  taken  down  to  the  side  of  the 
sacred  stream  to  die,  gaining  thereby  a  direct  en- 
trance to  the  Hindu  paradise. 

Now  we  row  slowly  back,  and  the  riverside  is  still 
lined  with  the  pilgrims  praying;  and  our  guides 
point  to  one,  calling  him  a  ''holy  beggar."  And 
why  "  holy  beggar  "  }  "  Because  he  does  not  beg 
his  bread,  but  gets  it  by  subscription,"  is  the  un- 
expected answer. 

Returning,  we  take  a  turn  through  the  brass 
bazaar, —  narrow  streets  with  only  one  width  of 
stone  about  three  or  four  feet  wide  separating  the 
opposite  houses.  It  is  most  inconvenient  to  meet 
a  sacred  cow  in  the  lanes  of  the  city,  for  you  must 
needs  squeeze  tightly  to  the  wall;  for  the  cow 
takes  her  pleasure,  pokes  her  head  into  bazaars, 
opens  doors  and  windows,  and  begs  her  food  from 


BENARES  AND    THE  BRAHMINS.  1 47 

house  to  house.  It  is  a  most  meritorious  act  to 
feed  the  sacred  cows;  so  they  stray  about  the  city 
at  will. 

Another  temple  still  remains  to  be  seen;  and 
proceeding  on  our  way,  we  soon  find  ourselves  in 
the  paradise  of  the  descendants  of  the  faithful 
Hanuman,  Son  of  the  Wind,  the  Rescuer  of  the 
precious  Bride  of  Rama,  whose  legendary  story 
runs  something  like  this :  It  chanced  once  upon  a 
time  that  this  most  mighty  of  apes  volunteered  to 
restore  the  long  lost  Sita  to  her  sorrowing  hus- 
band; and  believing  the  beautiful  woman  to  have 
been  kidnapped  by  the  King  of  Ceylon,  he  bids 
his  simians  to  construct  a  bridge  from  India  across 
the  narrow  sea.  When  this  is  finished,  a  command 
is  given  to  cease;  and  the  monkeys  drop  the  mighty 
stones  at  that  very  moment.  And  even  to  this  day 
a  huge  line  of  rocks  continues  from  the  Island  of 
Lanka  to  the  Himalaya  Mountains.  Hanuman  then 
sweeps  his  tail,  one  thousand  miles  long,  around 
the  island,  and  then  contracting  it,  finds  Sita  safe 
and  sound  with  a  dash  of  sunlight  in  her  dreamy 
eyes.  So  the  valiant  Hanuman  was  elevated  to  a 
place  in  the  Hindu  heaven,  and  his  descendants 
are  beloved  of  gods  and  men. 

We  are  advised  not  to  enter  the  temple  without 
providing  ourselves  with  sweets  and  gram  from  the 
venders  on  the  doorsteps,  otherwise  the  apes  would 


148  A    GIKUS   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

be  disagreeable,  perhaps  dangerous.  Once  inside, 
we  witness  a  curious  spectacle :  up  come  the  mon- 
keys in  crowds,  springing  from  the  lovely  green 
trees,  bounding  toward  us  from  the  temple  pinna- 
cles, unwinding  their  long  tails  from  the  carved  mar- 
ble pillars,  climbing  the  surrounding  walls  above 
our  heads,  and  reaching  down  for  the  contents  of 
the  trays.  One  old  yellow  monkey  evidently  thinks 
we  do  not  give  out  the  sugar  things  fast  enough; 
and  like  a  flash  upsets  the  dish  from  our  hands, 
scattering  the  grains  on  the  floor,  then  picking 
them  up  with  both  hands  and  eating  them.  The 
priests  are  dirty  and  miserable,  and  demand  ''back- 
sheesh" all  in  a  clamor.  This  temple  is  extremely 
sacred  in  the  eyes  of  Hindus,  and  crowds  of  wor- 
shippers come  every  day  to  strew  flowers  to  the 
idol  wife  of  Siva,  the  goddess  Dunga.  The  white 
flowers  of  the  temple,  strung  on  threads,  are  put 
about  your  neck  by  the  priests,  and  are  extremely 
pretty.  Flowers,  white  and  yellow,  float  continu- 
ally in  rich  masses  of  color  on  the  river,  and  are 
carried  in  baskets  to  throw  before  the  idols  in 
temples  and  shrines.  The  Hindus,  with  whom 
the  principal  virtue  consists  in  allowing  the  very 
nasty  water  of  the  Ganges  to  enter  their  mouths, 
and  who  wash  themselves  and  afterwards  their 
clothes  in  its  waters,  in  devotion  to  Dunga,  still 
have  no  idea  of  cleanliness.     The  streets  are  full 


BEA'ARES  AND    THE  BRAHMINS.  1 49 

of  unusual  scenes ;  sometimes  a  man  squats  by  the 
gutter  curb-stone  brushing  his  teeth, —  this  I  have 
seen. 

Sunday,  February  i. 

I  was  glad  this  morning  to  go  to  an  Episcopal 
Church-service  in  Benares,  the  old  stronghold  of 
Hinduism;  and  I  wondered  if  it  were  more  won- 
derful that  the  New  Zealand  traveller  should  in 
future  years  take  his  stony  seat  on  London  Bridge, 
than  that  an  American  girl  should  find  her  own 
church-service  flourishing  so  naturally  in  the 
citadel  of  idolatry,  the  sacred  Hindu  city,  where 
Buddha  preached,  convincing  the  thousands  of 
Brahmins  after  his  great  renunciation.  This  is, 
however,  a  fulfilment  of  the  law  of  progress,  the 
order  of  things  natural  and  things  spiritual, —  the 
stream  of  tendency  which  makes  for  righteousness. 

February  4. 

To-day  we  drove  to  the  Bishishear,  or  Holy  of 
Holies,  the  Golden  Temple.  It  is  reached  through 
long  twisted  lanes,  so  narrow  that  two  persons  can 
scarcely  pass  side  by  side,  lined  with  merchants  sit- 
ting cross-legged,  or  in  the  Hindu  manner  perched 
beside  their  wares,  like  so  many  crows.  They  sell 
brass  work,  kincob  embroideries,  and  idols  and 
rosary  beads.  But  the  greatest  traffic  is  with  the 
idols, —  stubby  little  fat  gods  on  wheels  or  other- 


150  A    GIRVS   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

wise,  brass  or  clay,  small  and  great  alike  are  dis- 
played on  the  long  shelves  which  front  and  line 
the  shops.  Here  is  a  crowd  of  pilgrims  making 
their  bargains,  and  departing  with  their  purchases 
wrapped  up  in  a  piece  of  brown  paper.  The  fa- 
vorite deity  seems  to  be  Ganesh,  the  shrewd  and 
cunning  elephant  god,  or  perhaps  Krishna,  the  frol- 
icsome partner  of  the  milkmaids.  Few  idols  are 
ever  sold  of  Brahma,  the  universal  spirit,  who  at 
present,  it  is  said,  is  only  worshipped  in  two  places 
in  India.  The  work  of  creation  finished,  the  Hin- 
dus prefer  to  devote  their  gifts  and  prayers  to  pro- 
pitiate the  two  remaining  "powers  that  be,"  —  the 
destroying  Siva  and  Vishnu  the  preserver. 

The  Golden  Temple  is  gold  only  so  far  as  the 
sheathing  of  the  pagoda  pinnacles  are  concerned. 
Near  by  is  the  Well  of  Knowledge,  —  the  place 
where  Siva  himself  is  said  "to  have  had  the  bad 
taste  to  reside."  It  is  a  small  square  building, 
swarming  with  dirty  fakirs  and  sleek  Brahmins. 
Cows  are  straying  about  at  will,  and  withered 
heaps  of  flowers  strewn  everywhere  make  the  place, 
the  air,  and  the  surroundings  almost  unendurable. 
In  former  days  the  devout  threw  in  the  well  offer- 
ings of  coins,  pice,  and  silver.  The  priests,  in  or- 
der to  profit  by  these  gifts,  originally  employed  a 
diver,  but  now  have  dispensed  with  his  services  by 
roofing  the  well  with  copper   in  order  to  rake    in 


BEXARES  AND    THE   BRAHMIXS.  151 

the  shekels  more  conveniently  and  surely;  and  so 
the  poor  deity,  like  Mother  Hubbard's  dog,  "gets 
none."  On  leaving  the  temple  the  worshippers 
have  a  custom  of  sounding  the  huge  bell  suspended 
by  a  chain  in  every  temple.  After  closely  ques- 
tioning our  Hindu  guide  as  to  the  meaning  of  this, 
he  finally  managed  to  explain  it  in  this  way,  which 
I  thought  very  amusing:  "Sahib  rings  bell;  that  is 
to  say,  '  Good-by,  Goddess,  now  I  go;  please  ex- 
cuse me  all   my  sins. '  " 

At  the   Cow  Temple   we  were   only  allowed  to 
enter  one  step  in  the  building,— quite  enough  we 
soon  discovered.     A  more  ridiculous  sight  one  can- 
not  imagine.     Thirty  cows  are  kept  in  the  temple 
court;  they  walk  about,  poke  their  heads  curiously 
into  the  most  holy  shrines  of  Siva,  examine  the  carv- 
ings like  connoisseurs,  and  the  whole  place  is  noth- 
ing less  than  an  ill-kept  stable.     The  place  simply 
reeked  with  horrid  smells,  and  was  not  improved  by 
the  crowd  of  fakirs  and  much-smeared  beggars  con- 
tinually streaming   in  with  purest  gold  wreaths   of 
marigolds  and  whitest  temple  flowers  to  decorate  the 
senseless,  ugly  idols.     They  all  receive  a  mark  from 
the  Brahmin,—  a  sign  that  they  have  visited  and  per- 
formed devotions  in  the  temple.     It  is  generally  a 
round  dab  of  red  paint,   or  white,  just  between  the 
brows;  and,  in  fact,  we  no   longer  notice  the  war- 
paint of  the  religieux,  —  it  is  so  universal.     Every 


152  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

man  who  worships  Vishnu  is  painted  with  per- 
pendicular streaks  between  the  eyes.  Siva's  dis- 
ciples are  marked  horizontally  across  the  forehead. 
Married  women  all  have  a  red  painted  mark  where 
the  hair  parts  in  front,  besides  caste-marks.  In  this 
country  the  women  wear  huge  nose-rings,  —  the  Ma- 
hometans a  gold  stud  merely  on  one  side  of  the 
nose,  which  Rudyard  Kipling  says  "takes  the  place 
of  the  Western  patch  "  in  drawing  attention  to  the 
curve  of  the  nostril;  their  ears  are  pierced  with 
from  two  to  twelve  rings  loaded  with  stones ;  arm- 
lets and  bangles  in  heavy  succession  hide  the  arms; 
and  anklets  put  on  in  childhood,  which  can  never 
be  taken  off  after,   keep  the  ankles  small. 

We  are  told  that  January  and  February  are  the 
great  months  for  rivers  and  the  worship  of  the 
idols.  The  Hindu  gods  go  to  sleep  in  the  hot 
season,  when  their  temples  are  deserted.  Now 
they  have  just  waked  up,  and  are  ready  to  open 
court,  as  it  were.  Their  chief  god,  Brahma,  they 
believe  is  now  in  prison.  He  was  so  very  bad  that 
the  other  deities  held  a  council  and  decreed  to  im- 
prison him.  The  triune  divinities  are  so  unex- 
ceptionally  bad  that  one  cannot  really  blame  the 
people  for  imitating  them.  Brahmin  temples  are 
not  meant  for  large  gatherings;  they  are  small, 
containing  only  a  shrine  surrounded  by  an  inclosed 
court.     This  is  because  the  devout  only  come  and 


BENARES  AND    THE  BRAHMINS.  I  53 

stay  a  few  minutes  every  clay,  offer  something  to 
the  Brahmin  attendant,  ring  a  bell,  and  go  away 
satisfied.  No  one  has  a  right  to  pray  or  offer 
gifts  directly  to  a  deity;  everything  must  be  done 
through  a  Brahmin  priest. 

This  morning  we  started  out  on  the  white  dusty 
road  in  a  palanquin-carriage  for  Sarnath,  six  miles 
from  Benares,  on  the  great  high-road  leading  from 
Calcutta  to  Afghanistan  and  its  border  city,  Pe- 
shawer.  India  is  one  great  prairie,  so  level  that 
from  the  coast  hills  to  the  Himalayas  the  country 
is  a  flat  table-land.  We  see  Sarnath  afar  off;  a 
wonderful  Buddhist  relic  it  is, —  a  mound  of  bricks 
once  covered  with  beautiful  carving,  of  which  pieces 
now  exist,  half  hidden  by  the  moss  and  grasses 
growing  in  the  crevices  of  the  tope.  Here  Buddha 
once  preached,  and  from  here  the  Buddhist  monks 
have  carried  their  religion  over  the  East.  For 
centuries  the  tope  at  Sarnath  has  been  the  most 
remarkable  Buddhist  monument  remaining  to  In- 
dia, for  a  strange  fortune  has  made  Brahminism 
hold  the  ancient  city  as  a  spiritual  capital ;  and 
the  lowest,  the  most  idolatrous  religion  of  priest 
worshippers  has  risen  in  the  Faranase  of  Buddha, 
the  contemporary  of  Nineveh  and  Babylon,  the 
oldest  city  in  the  world. 


154  ^    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA, 


CHAPTER    X. 

AT   LUCKNOW  AND    CAWNPORE. 

February  6. 

TT  is  breezy.  I  am  wearing  my  coat  over  a  blue 
woollen  frock.  Lucknow  now  can  feel  cold, 
at  least  in  contrast  to  the  glare  and  heat  of  Be- 
nares. The  trying  part  of  this  climate  is  its  fickle 
thermometer,  which  early  in  the  morning  is  very 
low,  and  gradually  goes  up  until  midsummer  heat 
is  reached  at  noon,  only  to  scamper  down  again  at 
sunset.  We  arrived  last  night  at  ten  o'clock,  and 
have  seen  nothing  of  the  place  or  people,  except 
the  dhobie  who  came  for  my  clothes  this  morning, 
and  who  looked  as  if  a  good  laundry  soaking  would 
do  his  one  dirty  garment  good.  The  process  called 
"washing"  in  the  East  is  not  a  costly  affair.  Four 
rupees  is  the  price, —  not  per  dozen,  but  per  hun- 
dred. I  have  caught  melancholy  glimpses  of  en- 
lightenment as  to  the  original  cause  of  unmendable 
rents,  buttons  demolished,  and  the  general  ruin 
which  invariably  ensues  from  confiding  fine  linen 
to   the   mercies   of   an    Indian    dhobie.      At    some 


AT  L  UCKNO  W  AND   CA  IVNPORE.  I  5  5 

unexpected  sylvan  riverside  you  come  suddenly 
on  a  line  of  dusky  forms,  each  bending  violently 
forward,  then  backward,  pounding  some  flapping 
vesture  on  the  rough  stones  of  the  stream.  I  have 
copied  the  following  written  sign  from  my  door- 
panel  in  the  hotel, —  a  scale  of  rates  which  varies 
seldom,  and  may  be  said  to  be  fairly  characteristic 
of  the  best  inns :  — 

Board  and  Lodging   ........  5  rupees  per  day. 

Indian  servants,  separate  room  ....  5       " 

Native  servants,  food,  per  day    ....  2       " 

4  annas  quarter  day. 

Punkah-wallah,  per  day 3      " 

"  "        per  night 3      " 

Dhobie,  per  hundred 4  rupees. 

Coolies  to  carry  baggage  to  and  from  rail- 
way station i  anna. 

Stabling,  per  month 8  rupees. 

Once  in  Lucknow,  it  goes  without  saying  that 
you  are  at  Hill's  Hotel,  — a  queer  affair  indeed  for 
a  hotel:  one  long  colonnaded  veranda;  behind  that 
are  our  sleeping-rooms,  only  shut  off  from  the  grass- 
less,  sun-baked  compound  by  an  old,  transparent, 
bamboo  curtain,  which  barely  hangs  together  out- 
side a  pair  of  doors  always  open,  and  which  I  have 
discovered  will  not  lock.  The  house  seems  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  long  by  one  room  deep;  there  is  no  office 
or  clerks  or  desk  to  be  seen.  You  shout  down  the 
open  piazza  for  paper  and  ink,  and  sooner  or  later 
a  dusky  figure  occupies  the  perspective  of  the  col- 


156  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

umned  quarter  mile  of  piazza,   and  produces  them 
from  somewhere.      Hotel  life  in  India  is  a  system 
of  shouting.      Outside  my  door  is  a  motley  crowd  of 
Afghans, —  men  from  Kabul  and  Lahore,  the  Nim- 
rods  of    Northern  India, —  who  have  brought  their 
furry  winter  merchandise  to  palm  off  on  the  tour- 
ists now  gathered  on  the  wide  veranda  to  spend  the 
hours  after  tiffin,  reclining  in  long  bamboo  chairs, 
with  a  semicircle  of  natives  squatting  behind  knotted 
muslin  bundles,  ready  at  the  least  encouragement  to 
produce  anything  in  the  taxidermist's  line,   from  a 
Himalaya  fox  to  a  Bengal  tiger.      This  is  a  great 
convenience.      It   is  a   shade  cooler   in  your  room, 
perhaps,   and   you  have  only  to  pull  up  the  crack- 
ling curtain,   and    sit    there   beyond   the    heat    and 
worry  of  the  bazaars.     A  slight   signal   starts  for- 
ward  the   whole   pack,   who    lay  their  treasures  at 
your  feet;  and  without  any  trouble  you  judge  and 
criticise,  and  then  select  an  equivalent  to  the  silver 
rupees  thrown  down  on  the  floor,  which  are  quickly 
transferred  to  the  mass    of  dirty   rags    around    the 
Afghan's  waist,  and  pays  his  return  journey  to  the 
snows. 

February  7. 

"  Here  lies  Henry  Lawrence, 
Who  tried  to  do  his  duty." 

These  two  simple  lines  on  the  grave  of  the  Eng- 
lish general  seem  to  sum  up  for  all  the  brave  men 


AT  L UCKNO  W  AND   CA  IVNPORE.  \ 5 7 

murdered    in    the    Indian    mutiny  the    most  fitting 
expression    and    epitaph.      The    vine-covered    ruins 
of  the    Residency  stand   sentinels  over  the  graves 
of    women   and   children   and   English  heroes,   once 
happy  and  free,  who  died  ten  thousand  deaths  be- 
fore the  end  came  in   the  terrible  summer  of  the 
siege  of   Lucknow.      Sir  Henry  Lawrence's  dying 
words  tell   the  simplicity  and  heroism  of  his  life. 
Three  English  heroes  have  used  the  same  expres- 
sions at  life's  end.     Nelson's  was,   "Have  done  my 
duty;"    Gordon's,    likewise;    and   Sir  Henry   Law- 
rence said,   modestly  but  eloquently,  "Tried  to  do 
my  duty."     We  drove  to-day  to  the  scenes  of  the 
mutiny.     All   will    be    impressed    indelibly  on   my 
memory,— the   Residency,    the   bailie  guard-house, 
the  churchyard,   with  the  pink  petals  falling  from 
English  rose-bushes  and  covering  English  graves, 
and  the  loving  vines  creeping  over  all  the  ruins  to 
hide  the  dreadful  marks  of  sorrow  and  desolation. 
The    great    Borgan   Villia    flowers    throw   a   purple 
curtain  of  mourning  over  the  death-chamber  in  the 
Residency,  where  Sir  Henry  Lawrence  died. 

At  the  first  symptoms  that  a  revolt  had  broken 
out  in  India,  Henry  Lawrence,  the  Commissioner  of 
Lucknow,  summoned  the  little  European  colony  scat- 
tered about  the  town  to  come  in  haste  to  the  Resi- 
dency for  protection.  On  the  29th  of  June  the  na- 
tive regiments  of  the  fort  went  over  with  all  their 


158  A    GIRVS  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

arms  to  the  Sepoy  mutineers,  leaving  only  fifteen 
hundred  soldiers,  with  several  hundred  women  and 
children,  to  sustain  during  several  months  of  an 
Indian  summer  the  frail  ramparts  thrown  up  hastily 
around  the  Residency,  against  a  terrible  foe,  ten 
times  more  numerous  than  themselves.  One  is  awed 
and  hushed  into  silence  while  walking  through  the 
scenes  of  that  awful  sorrow  and  suffering  that  came 
to  these  poor  creatures  in  that  improvised  fortress. 
The  pitted  walls  bear  the  traces  of  the  explosion  of 
shells  and  cannon-balls,  which  came  with  incessant 
rumblings  from  the  rebel  camp,  just  across  the 
flower-gardens  of  the  Residency,  and  mingled  with 
the  cries  of  the  wounded  and  the  moans  of  the 
weeping  wives  and  mothers.  The  slightest  expos- 
ure of  the  women  and  children  at  the  windows  was 
followed  by  a  death-shot  from  a  sharp-shooter.  And 
all  night  long  processions  of  mourning  friends 
filed  out  under  cover  of  the  darkness  to  the  little 
enclosure  by  the  church,  — -which  became  that  sum- 
mer, in  place  of  the  smooth  green  lawn,  a  great 
mounded  acre,  till  those  who  had  "fought  the 
good  fight,  and  kept  the  faith,"  far  outnumbered 
those  still  fighting.  Towards  the  end  of  Septem- 
ber every  hope  seemed  lost.  The  assailants  had 
gradually  approached  so  near  the  place  that  only 
a  few  acres  of  the  flower-planted  lawn  stretched 
between  those  desperate,  brutal,  leering  faces  and 


AT  LUCKXOW  AXD    CAWXPORE. 


159 


a  handful  of  discouraged  soldiers.  Sir  Henry  Law- 
rence was  dead,  —  struck  by  a  shell  in  a  moment 
of  brave  exposure  to  fire;  but  as  news  of  his  death 
would  come  as  a  shock  to  the  already  shattered 
hopes  of  the  soldiers,  no  one  had  dared  to  mention 
it  until  days  after.  Cholera  and  varioloid  each  day 
carried  off  new  victims,  and  then  the  provisions 
threatened  famine;  but  the  end  had  come.  One 
day,  the  wife  of  a  Scotch  sergeant  suddenly  cried 
out  that  she  heard  in  the  distance  the  sound  of  a 
bagpipe,  playing  ''The  Campbells  are  coming."  No 
doubt,  every  one  thought  she  had  gone  mad,  until 
the  cannonading  announced  the  approach  of  the  in- 
vincible Highlanders.  There  was  one  moment  of 
inability  to  realize  the  glorious  deliverance;  in  the 
next,  every  one  shouted  and  danced  for  joy,  and 
wrung  the  hands  of  these  great  sun-burned  men, 
and  praised  the  Great  Deliverer  that  the  Campbells 
had  come. 

Mutiny  days  are  still  vividly  remembered  in 
India.  Three  soldiers  were  being  driven  in  a  cart 
by  a  native  coachman  toward  Cawnpore  soon  after 
the  mutiny.  As  they  were  nearing  the  city  the  na- 
tive made  a  remark  in  Hindustani,  of  which  the 
soldiers  only  understood  the  word  "Cawnpore." 
This  name  uttered  by  the  native  struck  such  a  ten- 
der cord  of  memory  in  the  minds  of  the  soldiers, 
that  in  a  frenzy  then  and  there  they  hanged  the  man 


l6o  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

to  a  tree  by  the  roadside.  The  interest  attached 
to  the  Residency  at  Lucknow  completely  over- 
shadows all  other  desires  in  regard  to  sight- 
seeing. 

The  capital  of  Oude  is  called  the  City  of  Palaces. 
The  architecture  is  a  strange  mixture  of  the  Moor- 
ish and  the  Renaissance,  more  like  French  struc- 
tures and  the  pink-and-white  prettiness  of  the 
Cirque  d'Hiver.  In  fact,  we  did  not  visit  the  im- 
perial abodes  at  all.  It  was  exasperating  enough 
to  drive  by;  and  even  to  come  in  contact  with  them 
from  the  carriage  window  was  unpleasant.  A  com- 
pilation  of  colonnades,  of  arches  and  minarets,  a 
heaping  up  of  domes  surmounted  by  umbrellas, 
with  a  facade  of  confectionery,  rejoice  in  the  name 
of  the  Palace  of  Chantar  Manzil.  Another  palace, 
"a  little  Louvre  in  stucco,"  forms  an  enormous 
square  of  ornamental  plaster;  it  cost  millions  of 
money,  and  was  the  royal  residence  of  the  last 
king  of  Oude.  It  seems  that  the  princes  of  Oude 
possessed  a  mania  for  building;  and  the  result  is  a 
collection  of  palaces,  gardens,  tombs,  and  mosques, 
—  bad  examples  of  every  style  of  architecture  on 
the  earth's  surface.  In  the  native  quarter,  you  are 
in  a  true  little  Moorish  city,  with  long,  straight 
streets,  low  houses  with  grated  windows,  idols 
frescoed  in  fantastic  colors  on  the  Brahmin  tem- 
ples,   and    the    descendants    of    mutinous    Sepoys 


AT  L UCKXO \V  A ND   CA  WNPORE.  1 6 1 

thronging  their  dirty  streets.  To  reach  the  ba- 
zaars, you  push  on  through  narrow  lanes,  crowded 
with  noisy  natives,  hammering  away  at  copper 
vessels,  tinkering  at  brass  work, —  the  fires  blazing, 
the  odor  of  cooking  penetrating  everything, —  the 
faithful  reading  the  Koran,  sitting  cross-legged  and 
unconcerned  by  all  this  bustle,  confusion,  and  be- 
wildering throngs  of  Cashmerian  men,  Persians, 
Bengalis,  all  crowded  within  a  space  of  only  a  few 
feet,  where  our  carriage  seems  to  mow  its  way  be- 
tween the  dark  little  holes  of  shops  on  either  side. 
But  you  have  only  begun  to  see  the  bazaars. 
From  this  one  we  pass  on  to  others,  full  of  strange 
interest.  In  another  quarter  men  are  pencilling  on 
gold  and  silver  the  well-known  jungle-pattern  of 
feathery  palms;  rose-water  bottles,  cups  and  quaint 
boxes,  trays  and  vases,  all  are  decorated  with  this 
delicate  design.  An  entire  street  is  given  over  to 
the  hookahs, —  the  Suspira,  "the  smoker's  para- 
dise," where  you  see  a  nargileh  in  silver,  dainty 
enough  to  grace  the  apartment  of  a  rannee,  and  also 
the  more  ordinary  earthern  "hubble-bubble"  of  the 
shopkeeper,  who  spends  blissful  hours  every  day 
in  its  company,  looking  like  a  bag  of  rags  in  a  dark 
corner  of  the  shop,  his  dirty  white  phoulkari  drawn 
over  his  head,  half  asleep,  and  still  unconsciously 
puffing  away  at  the  same  time.  What  sights  and 
sounds,  and  how  alluring  the  place  becomes  as  you 

II 


1 62  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

go  on  to  the  artisan  quarter  and  see  the  craft  to 
which  Lucknow  owes  its  greatest  fame !  I  have  read 
a  very  accurate  description,  which  says :  "  GoM  and 
silver  wire  drawing,  with  its  complementary  trades 
of  gold  and  silver  lace,  brocades,  and  embroidery, 
employs  about  one  thousand  artisans  in  Lucknow. 
The  basis  of  these  fabrics  is  gold,  silver,  or  silver- 
gilt  wire  drawn  out  by  hand  —  or  rather  by  that  ex- 
tra hand  possessed  by  every  Indian,  the  foot  —  to 
an  extreme  thinness;  sometimes  used  round,  at 
other  times  flattened  out  into  fine  metal  ribbons,  or 
cut  into  spangles  of  various  patterns :  a  rupee  can 
be  drawn  out  to  eight  hundred  yards  of  wire.  These 
products  are  far  superior  to  anything  of  the  kind 
produced  in  Europe  by  machinery ;  the  wire  is  used 
largely  in  Ahmedabad,  Benares,  and  indeed  all  over 
India  in  the  manufacture  of  kincob  brocades.  The 
principal  kinds  of  lace  made  at  Lucknow  from 
gold  and  silver  wire  are  called  lachka^  kalabaUi, 
and  lais.  In  lachka,  the  warp  is  of  silver-gilt 
strips,  woven  with  a  woof  of  silk;  it  is  often 
stamped  with  patterns  in  high  relief,  and  is  mostly 
used  for  edging  turbans  and  petticoats.  Kalabatu 
consists  of  strips  of  gilded  silver  twisted  spirally 
round  threads  of  yellow  silk,  and  then  woven  into  a 
ribbon  similar  to  lachka.  In  lais,  the  woof  is  of  wire 
and  the  warp  of  silk.  This  industry  reappears  in 
the  shoe   and  slipper  bazaar,    where  beautiful  em- 


AT  LUCKNOW  AND   CAWNPORE.  1 63 

broidered  velvet  and  leather  slippers  may  be  pur- 
chased. The  native  kings  of  Oude  prohibited  the 
embroidery  of  slippers  with  anything  but  pure  gold 
wire,  but  the  bazaars  of  Lucknow  are  now  mainly 
filled  with  pinchbeck  frauds  from  Delhi." 

On  the  streets  you  meet  hosts  of  women  loiter- 
ing, idling,  and  shopping,  — wearing  a  drapery  held 
together  tightly  to  conceal  the  features,  but  often 
allowing  the  neck  and  shoulders  to  appear  uncov- 
ered. These  women  are  never  occupied  in  the 
sales.  The  nation's  'shopkeepers  are  always  men, 
disposing  alike  sweetmeats  and  furbelows,  accord- 
ins:  to  the  inflexible  customs  of  the  East. 

The  greatest,  the  richest  bazaar  is  left  until  the 
last, —  the  famous  choak,  or  silver  bazaar  of  Luck- 
now,  where  the  native  merchants  sit  in  the  open 
doors  of  their  shops,  with  silver  bangles  and  every 
sort  of  rough  and  fine  jewelry  spread  out  before 
them.  The  silver  kings  run  out  to  our  carriage, 
and  smilingly  salaam  us  an  invitation  to  stop  and 
buy.  We  step  over  the  gutter  running  before 
the  shop  down  the  entire  street,  and  perch  upon 
the  stone  entrance,  with  our  feet  on  the  sidewalk. 
It  is  not  a  spacious  shop,  but  the  charm  and 
novelty  of  it  one  can  only  find  in  the  East.  The 
stone  platform  just  raised  from  the  street  a  few 
feet,  on  which  we  sit,  is  literally  carpeted  with  the 
silver  jewelry  in  shining  heaps,    which   is  sold  for 


164  A    GIRVS  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

the  weight  in  rupees,  with  from  six  to  eight  annas 
additional,  varying  according  to  the  fineness  of 
the  workmanship.  The  shop  is  only  a  few  feet 
square,  open  to  the  air,  and  only  large  enough  for 
the  Hindu,  ourselves,  and  the  silver.  Behind  the 
platform  is  an  unknown,  dark,  windowless  region, 
in  which  Sham  Lall  keeps  his  treasures.  It  re- 
quires the  patient  spending  of  almost  an  hour  to 
induce  the  man  to  show  us  his  best  work.  All  the 
ordinary  wares  do  not  entice  us ;  so  he  finally  dis- 
appears to  his  lair,  and  brings  out  of  his  strong  box 
the  delicate  silver  things  that  we  see  in  Kensington 
Museum. 

Cawnpore,  February  8. 

Next  day  we  take  the  Oude  and  Rohilkund  Rail- 
way to  Cawnpore,  sacred  to  the  memory  of  the 
mutiny,  where  your  heart  melts  in  pity  for  what 
was.  A  strange  fascination  for  the  horrible  leads 
one  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  General  Wheeler's 
camp  and  the  massacre  Ghaut  of  Nana  Sahib;  and 
the  following  in  a  few  words  is  what  history  has 
to  tell  of  the  deepest,  darkest  tragedy  of  modern 
times. 

When  the  mutiny  broke  out.  Sir  Hugh  Wheeler, 
who  commanded  Cawnpore,  retired  with  seven  hun- 
dred European  men,  women,  children,  and  two  hun- 
dred soldiers,  into  a  couple  of  bungalows  hastily 
fortified  and  armed  with  several  cannon.     Here  at 


AT  L UCKNO W  AND   CA  IVNPORE.  165 

the  Indian  Thermopylae,  the  Englishmen  held  in 
check  thousands  of  rebels  commanded  by  the  rajah, 
Nana  Sahib,  who  had  tried  for  years  to  revenge 
himself  on  the  British  government.  On  the  26th 
of  June,  after  twenty  days  of  siege,  the  old  general, 
dismayed  by  the  decrease  of  food,  was  forced  to 
listen  to  the  proposition  of  the  rajah,  who  assured 
him  that  his  garrison  would  be  allowed  to  retreat 
in  safety  from  Cawnpore,  the  condition  being 
a  complete  evacuation  of  the  cantonment.  The 
English  hastily  decided  to  take  refuge  at  the  fort 
of  Allahabad;  but  they  were  scarcely  embarked 
with  their  women  and  children  in  the  boats  that 
Nana  Sahib  had  prepared  for  their  journey  down 
the  Ganges,  when  a  burst  of  artillery  sounded  from 
the  shore,  directed  towards  the  little  fleet,  and  all 
on  board  were  thus  violently  precipitated  into  the 
water  or  instantly  killed.  Four  men  only  escaped; 
the  others  swam  ashore  and  were  massacred,  — or 
still  worse,  taken  into  captivity  to  prolong  their 
agony  a  few  days.  On  the  15th  of  July,  an  army, 
made  desperate  by  the  news  of  this  terrible  treach- 
ery, advanced  on  Cawnpore.  Nana  Sahib,  believing 
himself  lost,  giving  vent  to  his  terrible  despair  and 
vengeance,  calmly  ordered  the  massacre  of  his  pris- 
oners of  war.  The  men  were  immediately  shot 
down;  while  the  women  suffered  a  more  horrible 
fate,    being   confined    in    a   narrow   bungalow,    and 


1 66  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

tortured  by  occasional  levelling  of  the  rebel  guns 
at  the  windows  through  the  roof.  Afterward  a 
band  of  Sepoys  rushed  into  the  building,  cutting 
down  the  frightened  women  right  and  left,  until 
maddened  by  terror  they  rushed  out  of  the  place, 
followed  by  the  yelling  Hindus.  Seeing  a  well  be- 
longing to  one  of  the  pretty  English  villas  of  this 
ill-fated  spot,  they  threw  themselves  in,  preferring 
death  in  that  way.  Nana  Sahib's  men,  closing  in 
upon  them,  carried  the  dead  bodies  of  the  mur- 
dered women  and  threw  them  in  with  the  living; 
and  when  the  English  soldiers  came  with  relief 
twenty-four  hours  afterward,  they  found  an  unre- 
cognizable, palpitating  mass  of  human  beings  —  the 
living  and  the  dead  —  mingled  together  in  that 
place.  To-day  the  English  have  planted  fragrant 
beds  of  roses  and  sweet  English  flowers  about  the 
scene  of  massacre ;  a  reverential  hush  pervades  the 
gardens,  the  trees  and  leaves  rustle  very  gently, 
and  the  birds  sing  softly, — for  the  place  whereon 
you  stand  is  holy  ground. 

How  fresh  the  memory  of  the  mutiny  still  is  in 
India!  Everybody  talks  about  it,  and  its  horrors 
are  in  everybody's  mouth.  Such  tales  and  hap- 
penings! Such  misery!  Miss  S.  told  me  to-day 
of  the  mysterious  cakes  sent  to  every  native  sol- 
dier before  the  mutiny,  the  meaning  of  which  has 
never  been  explained  to  this  day.     A  story  is  told 


AT  LUC  KNOW  AND   CAIVNFORE.  167 

of  a  family  hiding  in  some  chaff;  when  the  Sepoys 
came  up,  they  suspected  something,  and  poking 
into  the  grain  with  swords,  discovered  the  poor 
creatures,  who  were  killed,  all  except  a  girl  of 
seventeen  years.  She  was  released  on  condition 
that  she  would  repeat  the  Mahometan  creed,  "Al- 
lah ho  Akbar,"  which  she  almost  unconsciously 
did.  She  was  then  delivered  as  a  slave  to  the 
highest  general,  and  sent  to  Mecca,  where  she  was 
known  by  the  name  of  Sara  Begum.  After  twelve 
years  in  the  harem,  she  sometimes  came  out  and 
lived  with  Europeans  for  a  little  time,  then  re- 
turned to  Delhi  or  Lahore,  and  became  apparently 
a  Mahometan  again.  No  one  knows  who  she  was, 
and  she  refused  to  answer  any  questions,  but  in- 
sisted she  still  remained  a  Christian,  and  could 
do  more  good  by  abiding  in  the  house  of  unbelief 
than  returning  to  civilization. 


1 68  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

AGRA  AND  THE  TAJ   MAHAL. 

Agra,  February  lo. 

TT  has  been  in  the  air  for  days.  Floating  bits 
of  talk  come  to  our  ears,  and  they  all  repeat 
softly,  almost  reverently,  "The  Taj."  For  several 
days  travellers  have  had  an  excited  air;  something 
is  near,  brooding  over  the  future,-^ some  great  pres- 
ence is  about.  Every  one  is  hastening  to  the  mag- 
net, the  climax,  the  glory  of  Agra;  it  seems  the 
great  pre-eminent  and  all-absorbing  spot  to  which 
the  whole  creation  of  tourists  move.  So  to-day, 
Sunday, —  a  true  sun's  day,  bright,  intensely  bright 
and  wondrously  calm, —  we  visit  the  glorious  tomb 
which  Shah  Jehan  builded  as  a  matchless  monu- 
ment to  his  love  for  Arjamand. 

After  three  miles  of  dusty  roads  and  dry,  grass- 
less  fields,  we  reach  the  Jumna,  and  stop  before  a 
Moorish  gateway,  with  white,  dome-like  crowns  over 
the  arches;  and  look!  you  stand  breathless,  with  the 
Taj  Mahal,  hidden  until  now,  before  you.  Through 
the  tall  archway  stretches  many  feet  of  clear  water, 


AGRA   AND    THE    TAJ  MAHAL.  1 69 

bubbling  with  fountains,  and  bordered  by  dark 
rows  of  cypress-trees  leading  straight  up  to  the 
white  marble,  where  from  amid  gardens  of  beauti- 
ful flowers  and  the  surrounding  green  of  shady 
trees  rises  lightly  a  great  white  blossom,  a  fra- 
gile, snowy  lily,  —  the  Taj.  "You  see  it  with 
the  heart  before  the  eyes  have  scope  to  gaze." 
High  in  air  stands  the  ivory,  creamy  dream  of 
white  marble,  —  the  magic  of  lines  and  arches, 
the  unearthlike  beauty  of  Arabic  architecture.  The 
slender  cypress-trees  in  the  foreground,  the  sunlight 
falling  in  bright  patches  of  light  on  the  rounded 
domes,  the  airy  minarets  all  white  and  crystal, 
produce  an  exquisite  effect  against  the  deep-blue 
Indian  sky.  The  thing  which  most  impresses  you 
is  the  whiteness;  everything  is  purest  marble.  The 
inlaid  work  of  precious  stones,  in  garlands,  sprigs, 
and  rose-clusters,  is  the  ancient  model  for  all  Flor- 
entine mosaic;  and  the  entire  Koran  is  inlaid  in 
Persian  characters  over  the  Taj  so  smoothly  that  it 
looks  like  shadows  on  the  marble.  To  say  that  in- 
side and  out  the  building  is  like  a  beautiful  jewel- 
box  would  only  half  tell  the  story.  Ah,  how  I  could 
wish  for  Ruskin  to  tell  me  how  to  describe  what 
I  can  only  feel  and  dream,  and  thereby  make  the 
stones  of  Agra  as  dear  to  us  as  the  stones  of  Ven- 
ice! I  could  tell  you  that  twenty  thousand  work- 
men took  seventeen  years  to  finish  it,  and  still  you 


I70  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

would  wonder  how  any  earthly  men  could  accom- 
plish it  in  a  single  century,  or  ever  succeed  in  do- 
ing it  at  all.  I  could  tell  you  there  is  a  garden 
all  about  the  Taj,  "where  men  sit  and  hear  the 
bulbul  singing  to  the  rose,  and  talk  of  Arjamand 
and  love  and  death."  And  you  seek  the  stillness 
and  repose  of  the  winding  paths  and  the  acres  of 
choicest  flowers,  and  let  them  all  come  into  your 
life,  to  sweeten  and  refresh  it.  It  is  true  you  get 
what  inspiration  you  bring :  come  here  in  the  mood 
for  receiving  good,  and  you  find  it;  but  you  must 
be  in  sympathy  with  the  hidden  thought  expressed 
in  the  marble,  for  a  verse  on  the  entrance  says, — 

"  Only  the  pure  in  heart  shall  enter  into  the  gardens  of  God." 

To  realize  the  deep  sweetness  of  it  all,  to  make 
you  see  the  poetic  lights  and  shadows,  I  quote  Sir 
Edwin  Arnold's  perfect  word-etching.  Of  the  gar- 
den he  says : — 

"The  garden  helps  the  tomb,  as  the  tomb  dignifies 
the  garden.  It  is  such  an  orderly  wilderness  of  rich 
vegetation  as  could  only  be  had  in  Asia, —  broad  flags 
of  banana  belting  the  dark  tangle  of  banyan  and 
bamboo,  with  the  white  pavements  gleaming  cross- 
wise through  the  verdure.  Yet  if  the  Taj  rose  amid 
sands  of  a  dreary  desert,  the  lovely  edifice  would 
beautify  the  waste,  and  turn  it  into  a  tender  parable 
of  the  desolation  of  death  and  the  power  of  love. 


AGRA   AND    THE    TAJ  MAHAL.  I'Jl 

which  is  stronger  than  death.  You  pace  round  the 
four  sides  of  the  milk-white  monument,  pausing  to 
observe  the  glorious  prospect  over  the  Indian  plains 
commanded  from  the  platform  on  that  face  where 
Jumna  washes  the  foot  of  the  wall.  Its  magnitude 
astounds.  The  plinth  of  the  Taj  is  over  one  hun- 
dred yards  each  way,  and  it  lifts  its  golden  pinnacle 
two  hundred  and  forty-five  feet  into  the  sky.  From 
a  distance  this  lovely  and  aerial  dome  sits,  there- 
fore, above  the  horizon  like  a  rounded  cloud. 

"And  having  paced  about  it,  and  saturated  the 
mind  with  its  extreme  and  irresistible  loveliness, 
you  enter  reverently  the  burial-place  of  the  prin- 
cess Arjamand,  to  find  the  inner  walls  of  the  mon- 
ument as  much  a  marvel  of  subtle  shadow  and 
chastened  light  decked  with  delicate  jewelry  as 
the  exterior  was  noble  and  simple.  On  the  pure 
surface  of  this  hall  of  death,  and  upon  the  columns, 
panels,  and  trellis-work  of  the  marble  screens  sur- 
rounding the  tomb,  are  patiently  inlaid  all  sorts 
of  graceful  and  elaborate  embellishments, —  flowers, 
leaves,  berries,  lapis-lazuli,  nacre,  onyx,  turquoise, 
sardonyx,  and  even  precious  gems." 

A  truly  wonderful  echo  can  be  heard  in  the  inte- 
rior. The  sound  of  one's  natural  voice  is  taken  up, 
lifted  high  in  the  dome  from  harmony  to  harmony, 
and  like  organ  music  swells  grandly  through  the 
arches, — a  beautiful  effect  of  tones  as  if  from  a 


1 72  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

choir  invisible;  and  in  the  centre  of  the  snow-flower, 
deep  in  its  marble  heart,  warm  beams  of  sunlight 
fall  through  the  lacy  screen  of  alabaster  on  the 
tomb  under  the  great  dome,  where  lies  Mumtaz-i- 
Mahal,  chosen  of  the  palace,  and  her  royal  husband, 
who  willed  all  this  beauty,  and  it  was  done.  Ac- 
cording to  Mahometan  custom,  the  real  tomb  is  in 
a  crypt  directly  below  the  false  ones.  It  is  said  the 
great  shah  intended  and  planned  a  black  marble 
Taj  to  be  reared  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the  Jumna, 
connected  with  this  shrine  by  a  bridge  of  silver; 
but  the  idea  was  abandoned,  the  shadow  shrine 
never  completed,  and  we  are  left  to  think  that  the 
princess  who  had  so  enchanted  her  royal  lover 
willed  it  that  he  might,  no  longer  living,  belong 
to  her  forever,  —  for  is  she  not   Arjamand, 

"  Thy  own  loved  bride  ? 
The  one,  the  chosen  one,  whose  place 
In  life  or  death  is  by  thy  side?" 

To  realize  the  fabled  splendors  of  the  "  Arabian 
Nights,"  come  to  Agra,  the  city  of  the  magnificent 
Akbar,  who  builded  here  a  collection  of  the  most 
glorious  mosques,  palaces,  and  musjids  in  the 
world,  all  of  purest  marble,  surrounded  by  the 
walls  of  the  fort  as  pearls  are  hidden  within  their 
dark  enclosure.  We  enter  the  fort  through  the 
Delhi  Gate;  a  roadway  leads  to  a  flight  of  steps, 
surmounted  by  the  famous  Moti    Musjid,    or  pearl 


AGRA   AND    THE    TAJ  MAHAL.  173 

mosque,  of  which  the  guide  relates  that  it  was  the 
private  chapel  of  the  Mogul  emperor,  and  was 
built  by  Shah  Jehan  in  1654.  At  the  first  look 
you  are  dazzled  by  the  brightness,  as  if  the  sun 
fell  on  a  hill  of  snow  far  above,  beneath,  and  all 
around  you ;  pinnacles,  roof,  pavements,  domes,  and 
courts  are  all  alike  of  whitest,  stainless  marble, 
carved,  traced,  and  sometimes  perforated  like  gauzy 
curtains  between  the  window  arches,  the  court  shin- 
ing like  a  crystal  lake  touched  by  sunbeams,  where, 
in  the  centre,  a  fountain  jets  a  diamond  spray,  and 
rows  of  exquisite  pillars  seem  to  attach  this  white 
cloud-structure  to  the  earth,  — 

"  Without  price,  without  flaw.     And  it  lay  on  the  azure 
Like  a  diadem  dropped  from  an  emperor's  treasure ; 
And  the  dome  of  pearl  white  and  the  pinnacles  fleckless 
Flashed  back  to  the  light  like  the  gems  in  a  necklace." 

When  you  long  to  think  of  something  pure,  when 
your  sight  is  weary  of  the  tortures  of  modern  "high 
art "  and  artistic  decorations,  I  can  recommend  you 
to  close  your  eyes  and  see  a  refreshing  vision  of 
dome-covered  arches,  Saracenic  pillars, —  pure,  spot- 
less, colorless,  "all  white  against  a  sapphire  sky," 
—  of  which  the  inscription  tells  us  that  "it  is  truly 
a  precious  pearl,  for  no  other  mosque  in  the  world 
is  lined  throughout  with  marble;"  and  nothing  will 
make  you  see  it  better. 

Now,   this  mosque  is   but    a   small  part   of    the 


174  ^    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

treasures  Teft  to  see  inside  the  red  tessellated  walls. 
At  first  you  cannot  comprehend  the  vastness  of  the 
succession  of  Saracenic  buildings.  There  is  an 
open  square  farther  on ;  cloisters  surrounding  three 
sides  of  it  enclosing  the  great  colonnaded  Audience 
Hall,  the  Diwan-i-An  of  Shah  Jehan,  who  built  all 
these  palaces,  and  here  gave  audience  to  his  nobles, 
a  rajah  in  attendance  at  every  pillar;  and  if  there 
were  no  other  marvels,  this  one  alone  would  repay 
you  the  journey. 

Our  guide  conducts  us  by  an  exquisite  stairway 
to  the  apartments  of  the  Imperial  Harem,  —  a  be- 
wildering vista  of  marble  rooms,  where  dwelt  all 
that  was  most  lovely  of  womankind  in  the  empire, 
protected  from  view  by  pierced  marble  screens 
carved  like  lace.  A  luxurious  garden  blossoms 
with  roses  and  creeping  vines;  among  them,  in  the 
olden  time,  fountains  threw  a  perfumed  spray  and 
birds  sang  in  the  trees.  A  little  distant  was  a 
fish-pond,  once  filled  with  gold-fish,  where  the  rival 
beauties  met,  amused  themselves,  fished,  and  in- 
trigued at  the  same  time,  no  doubt  for  lack  of  other 
occupations.  These  fountains  reflected  Nourmahal, 
and  perhaps  the  fair  Arjamand,  who,  described  as 
all  sweetness,  was  nevertheless  a  bigot,  and  plotted 
the  destruction  of  the  newly-established  Catholics; 
and  jealousies,  rivalries,  and  heart-breaks,  mourn- 
ing and  laughing,  went  on  all  through  the  exits  and 


AGKA   AND    THE    TAJ  MAHAL.  1 75 

entrances  of  the  royal  actors  on  this  stage-land  of 
state.  In  one  courtyard  has  been  laid  out  in  mar- 
ble blocks  of  gray  and  white  a  huge  chessboard, 
where  the  Mogul  king  played  chess  with  his  sul- 
tana, with  living  chessmen,  and  just  ordered  the 
pages  and  little  boy-knights  to  change  about  on 
the  spaces.  And  we  saw  also,  in  marble,  the  royal 
game  of  parcheesi, —  the  same  game,  on  a  large  scale, 
which  we  played  as  children.  And  the  merry  mon- 
arch Akbar  had  huge  arched  rooms,  intertwining 
like  a  labyrinth,  where  he  loved  to  see  his  little 
wives  playing;  and  this  is  called  the  Palace  of  Hide- 
and-Seek. 

The  English  government  has  set  apart  these 
wonderful  palaces,  which  are  just  as  fresh  as  the 
day  the  last  workman  left  them,  and  keeps  them 
protected  from  destruction.  What  would  happen 
if  a  desperate  war  should  be  carried  on  in  India? 
If  you  read  of  Akbar,  who  caused  all  this  glory, 
you  will  see  he  was  a  wonderful  man  and  most  lib- 
eral in  his  views.  A  Mahometan  himself,  he  never- 
theless took  a  Brahmin  wife  from  the  Hindus;  and 
he  built  for  her  a  palace  of  exquisite  Indian  design, 
containing  a  temple  for  the  idols.  He  also  chose 
a  bride  from  the  Portuguese  of  Goa,  a  Christian 
girl,  of  whom  he  had  heard  through  the  Jesuits; 
and  he  built  his  Catholic  wife  a  chapel  with  as 
many  crosses  as  crescents. 


176  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

We  have  only  a  few  silent  moments  to  imagine 
the  life  here  as  it  was  in  the  time  of  Persian  splen- 
dor, for  the  guide  will  hold  his  peace  no  longer, 
and  tells  us  that  we  must  move  on.  In  a  moment 
more  we  are  in  the  Diwan-i-Kass,  and  are  listen- 
ing to  a  statement  that  ''the  hall  is  sixty-four  feet 
long  and  thirty-four  broad,  all  of  pietra  dura;"  and 
the  fact  is  impressively  declared  that  it  is  traced 
and  chiselled,  roof  and  mouldings,  with  lotus  flowers 
and  bud  designs.  How  one  would  like  to  be  quiet ! 
but  the  guide  now  and  then  disappears  altogether 
in  the  labyrinth  of  arches,  doorways,  and  secret 
stairways ;  you  give  up  the  attempt,  and  only  strive 
to  keep  in  sight  the  Hindu's  flying  sashes. 

St.  John's  College. 
It  was  about  twelve  o'clock  of  the  noonday  when 
we  first  entered  the  compound  of  St.  John's  Col- 
lege, belonging  to  the  London  Missionary  Society, 
where  Indian  boys  are  educated  to  pass  examina- 
tions for  the  English  universities,  graduate,  and 
receive  degrees  equal  to  the  government  colleges 
of  India.  We  had  voyaged  down  the  Red  Sea  and 
through  the  Indian  Ocean  with  the  new  rector,  the 
Rev.  Mr.  H ,  and  he  had  promised  on  our  ar- 
riving at  Agra  that  we  should  see  him  and  his 
college;  and  so  one  morning  an  Indian  dog-cart 
drove  recklessly  around  the  narrow  curves  of  Agra 


AGRA   AND    THE    TAJ  MAHAL.  ijy 

Streets,  and  a  wild  Australian  horse  was  jerked  up 
at  the  steps  of  Laurie's,  with  the  effect  of  nearly 
upsetting  the  rector.  This  was  the  first  acquaint- 
ance of  the  English  master  with  his  steed,  and 
the  result  was  a  complete  misunderstanding.  Ter- 
rified but  brave,  B.  mounted  the  box-seat,  I  clung 
to  the  syce  behind,  and  we  whirled  through  the 
town,  and  with  great  luck  landed  ''whole"  at  the 
college. 

Seated  in  the  portico  at  a  long  plain  table 
were  about  twenty  young  natives,  to  whom  a  Brah- 
min pundit  was  giving  a  lesson.  I  questioned, 
and  found  it  was  Persian;  and  in  the  stone-floored 
central  hall  we  afterward  gravely  inspected  classes 
imbibing  a  comfortable  amount  of  Arabic  and  San- 
scrit, judging  from  the  size  of  the  volumes.  We 
walked  through  the  corridors  also,  where,  divided 
into  two  separate  rooms,  were  grown-up  boys,  who 
were  learning  pleasant  moral  maxims  in  English 
monosyllables  from  green  primers.  All  the  teach- 
ers and  professors  were  pundits  or  muftis,  wearing 
huge  white  turbans,  and  waxed  fat  and  sleek  from 
a  generous  stipend  procured  from  parish  collec- 
tion-boxes over  the  sea;  every  student  was  dressed 
in  embroidered  and  gilded  garments,  utterly  unlike 
our  college  boys  in  all  this  finery,  which  looked 
most  absurd  when  the  boys  were  playing  football 
and   cricket.      Many  of  the  boys  live   in  a  plain, 

12 


178  A    GIRVS   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

mud-thatched  building  in  the  grounds,  and  have 
over  them  a  care-taker, —  a  dear  old  native,  who  is 
called  a  House-father.  The  floors  of  the  house  are 
stone,  and  the  walls  of  their  rooms  clay.  Like 
prison-cots,  the  low  charpoys  of  the  students  were 
ranged  along  the  side  walls,  standing  about  a  foot 
from  the  ground.  No  other  furniture  was  visible. 
The  only  attempt  at  ornament  to  be  seen  were  the 
bright-colored  pasteboard  initials  of  the  honor-men 
at  English  universities,  that  seemed  to  encourage 
the  students  to  think  there  was  some  chance  for 
them  after  all  to  go  and  do  likewise.  It  was  all  so 
plain  and  bare, — a  simplicity  that  Greek  philoso- 
phers might  have  approved,  and  scarce  fell  short 
of  the  mark  aimed  at  by  the  Jesuit  colleges. 

Like  every  one  else  who  comes  in  contact  with 
Indian  missions,  we  revealed  an  amazing  amount 
of  latent  interest  in  them,  up  to  that  moment 
scarcely  suspected  by  ourselves.      During   the    day 

the    Rev.    Mr.     H related    many    interesting 

things  in  reference  to  the  missions  in  Agra,  and 
we  listened  eagerly  while  the  rector  talked  about 
his  college.  There  are  four  hundred  natives  be- 
ing educated  at  St.  John's  College  (only  forty  of 
them  are  Christians),  and  it  is  possible  for  a  native 
to  get  his  education  with  ordinary  care  for  from 
eight  to  one  hundred  rupees.  In  the  Church  mis- 
sionary boarding-schools  the  charge  for  students  is 


AGRA   AND    THE    TAJ  MAHAL.  179 

eight  annas  a  month.  In  competing  with  govern- 
ment schools,  in  which  the  charges  are  merely 
nominal,  St.  John's  is  obliged  to  offer  very  low 
terms.  Putting  missions  on  trial  is  a  favorite 
amusement;  but  I  think  after  hearing  the  case  ar- 
gued by  the  results  in  India,  the  percentage  of 
people  who  would  not  give  a  verdict  of  admiration 
is  very  insignificant. 

In  the  compound  of  the  rector's  bungalow  there 
is  a  small  building,  occupied  by  seven  Hindu  and  as 
many  more  Mahometan  students.  They  have  sepa- 
rate servants,  who  prepare  the  food ;  and  they  take 
their  meals  alone,  squatting  on  the  ground,  and  eat- 
ing with  their  fingers.  Among  the  students  are  sev- 
eral of  the  highest  castes  in  India,  and  one  boy  is  the 
descendant  of  the  great  Seyd.  He  is  a  noble  fellow, 
tall  and  athletic,  with  a  splendid  head  and  great 
dignity  of  expression;  and  the  rector  told  us  that 
after  years  of  study  and  intercourse  this  brave  young 
Mussulman  has  become  quite  convinced  of  the  er- 
rors of  his  inherited  faith.  When  the  reports  on 
examinations  were  to  be  sent  in  to  the  Allahabad 
University,  and  each  boy  was  asked  to  what  creed 
he  would  be  put  down,  Seyd,  in  spite  of  the  derision 
of  other  students,  and  at  the  hazard  of  all  his  pros- 
pects to  fortune  and  title,  replied,  "A  Christian. " 
So  he  has  consented  to  become  one  on  Sunday. 
The  indignation  among  the  natives  is  intense;  the 


l80  A    GIRLS   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

town  is  infuriated;  nothing  else  is  talked  of.  His 
mother  says  that  this  will  break  her  heart,  but  his 
father  declares  he  will  kill  him.  Hoping  to  in- 
timidate the  missionaries,  the  Mahometans  held  a 
meeting  last  Sunday  morning,  at  which  they  passed 
a  resolution  that,  should  the  baptism  take  place,  it 
be  decreed  that  no  Mahometan  boy  in  future  at- 
tend a  Christian  college. 

The  missionaries  complain  justly  of  the  attitude  of 
the  British  government  of  India  toward  the  Chris- 
tian religion.  Any  amount  of  toleration  is  shown  to 
all  other  creeds.  A  Hindu  may  proselytize  as  much 
as  he  will ;  Mahometans  may  preach  and  make  con- 
verts ;  but  the  Christian  religion  must  not  be  spoken 
of  in  high  places.  In  fulfilment  of  treaty  conditions 
with  the  heathen,  no  government  servant  is  allowed 
to  attempt  their  conversion.  No  Bible  history  is 
taught  in  the  government  colleges  everywhere  es- 
tablished, but  the  works  of  Huxley,  Schopenhauer, 
and  other  infidel  literature  is  allowed.  As  an  illus- 
tration, a  commissioner  of  a  certain  province  in  In- 
dia at  one  time  took  an  active  part  in  a  Salvation 
Army  meeting,  which  had  gathered  to  explain  some 
portion  of  Bible  history  to  the  soldiers.  He  was 
soon  informed  by  government  authority  that  he 
would  have  to  give  up  his  Bible  class  and  meetings, 
or  resign  his  post.  I  cannot  give  you  all  the  de- 
tails that   I  heard,   but  I  recall  scraps  of  the  con- 


AGJ^A   AXD    TIIE    TAJ  MAHAL.  l8l 

versation.  I  soon  discovered  that  the  outcries  of 
missionary  failure  in  the  West  were  as  nothing  to 
the  complaints  against  nominal  Christianity  among 
English-speaking  people  in  the  East.  The  dead- 
ness  of  Anglo-Indians  toward  their  church,  the 
bad  effect  of  their  inconsistent  lives  and  example, 
are  declared  by  missionaries  to  be  positive  hin- 
drances to  their  work.  There  is  not  even  neutrality 
among  the  Anglo-Indians,  but  an  absolute  aggres- 
sive attitude  towards  Christianity;  and  the  heathen 
simply  cannot  understand  the  difference  between 
the  lives  led  by  the  missionaries  and  those  of  the 
many  foreign  residents.  A  Hindu  rannee  once  ar- 
rived at  a  most  unflattering  solution  of  the  prob- 
lem when  she  said,  "You  have  people  among  the 
English  that  are  not  Christians,  just  as  we  have." 
All  this  and  much  more  we  heard  that  day;  but 
there  remains  yet  very  much  of  Agra  which  clamors 
to  be  inked  down  in  my  journal. 

February  ii. 

I  shall  remember  long  and  well  the  evening  spent 
at  the  rectory  bungalow  at  Agra.  There  is  not  a 
more  charming  household  in  India,  nor  one  where 
the  mistress  is  kinder  and  more  gracious  to  her 
guests.  What  a  luxury  it  is  to  dine  in  a  quiet 
house  after  two  months  of  life  in  hotels,  none  but 
those  who  have  experienced  it  can  know. 


1 82  A    GIRVS  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

During  the  evening  a  message  was  sent  to  the 
native  students,  who  occupy  a  small  bungalow  just 
beyond  the  palm-trees,  to  join  us.  The  dark-eyed 
Indians  were  soon  seated  in  a  long,  uncomfortable, 
bashful  row,  in  eight  chairs  pushed  back  straight 
along  the  opposite  wall  of  the  little  drawing-room. 
I  think  the  latent  consciousness  of  superiority  mate- 
rializes when  you  come  face  to  face  with  your  dark- 
eyed  brothers.  One  was  a  lad  with  a  peculiarly  high- 
bred look  and  a  sweet  and  gentle  face.  His  velvet 
embroidered  clothes  showed  that  he  was  of  the 
upper  class, — a  Seyd  of  the  family  of  Mahomet. 
The  other  boys  were  not  less  interesting;  and  they 
returned  our  glances  from-  under  their  long  lashes, 
as  in  our  way  we  were  quite  as  much  "  curios  "  to 
them  as  they  to  us.  Silence  followed,  — an  embar- 
rassing silence.  We  knew  not  what  to  say  to  them ; 
so  at  first  said  nothing,  but  took  long  looks  at  the 
rector's  little  melodeon  that  occupied  the  opposite 
corner  from  where  those  eight  young  heathen  sat 
motionless,  though  they  seemed  to  pervade  the 
whole  room.  It  was  agonizing,  this  social  contact 
of  the  races.  We  could  go  on  well  with  guides 
and  native  shopkeepers,  who,  half  Anglicized  them- 
selves, knew  how  to  take  us;  but  these  undiluted 
heathen  were  not  intelligible  beings  to  us.  We 
only  knew  that  in  their  eyes  we  were  committing  a 
peculiar  sin  in  merely  sitting  in  the  room  with  the 


AGJ^A   AXD    THE    TAJ  MAHAL.  183 

sahibs.  Has  not  Mahomet  said,  "  Let  your  women 
be  in  seclusion"?  and  worse  still,  in  our  distant 
trip  to  Eastern  countries,  were  we  not  disobeying 
the  Tamil  proverb  taught  by  their  mothers,  which 
says,  "Ignorance  is  an  ornament  to  women,"  and 
which  followed  out,  denies  to  their  sisters  changes 
of  scene,  while  a  superstitious  religion  seals  the 
pleasures  of  such  small  social  joys  as  these?  To 
our  relief,  the  rector  suggests  music;  and  B.  grate- 
fully takes  the  chair  at  the  melodeon,  and  produces 
a  fragment  of  Western  song  to  a  pagan  audience. 
It  is  the  "Last  Night,"  and  very  well  sung.  If 
Western  speech  was  as  lead,  Western  song  was  as 
adamant  to  their  comprehension.  This  old  friend 
among  songs  heard  every  night  in  another  land 
would  never  fail  for  applause;  but  the  Indians  un- 
derstand nothing  of  the  melody,  and  think  the  trills 
and  scales  wonderful  but  unnecessary;  they  sit 
strangely  dumb,  with  their  arms  folded,  and  pay  no 
tribute  to  the  music.  When  two  more  selections 
meet  the  same  fate,  we  retire;  and  after  an  interval 
the  boys  offer  no  objection  to  our  request,  and  sing 
some  native  rags  in  their  own  style, — a  pensive, 
musical  pace. 

The  musicians  of  India  have  a  perfect  scale  of 
seven  tones;  they  have  composed  a  certain  number 
of  rags  (tunes),  believed  to  be  of  divine  orio;in. 
and  the  invention  of  new  musical  compositions  or 


1 84 


A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 


the  least  variation  of  those  existing  is  forbidden  by 
the  priesthood.  Quaint  Oriental  airs,  full  of  weird 
melodies  and  strange  effects  of  time  and  rhythm,  are 
the  gazals  sung  by  the  Mahometans  of  Northern 
India.  Hindustani  musical  compositions,  called 
Bhajans,  are  even  more  irregular  and  abrupt.  The 
beginnings,  endings,  and  erratic  spirit  of  the  tunes 
would  not  be  condoned  to  Berlioz,  to  whom  much 
musical  eccentricity  is  forgiven.  For  illustration, 
I  quote  from  the  Hindustani  ''Tune  Book,"  pub- 
lished at  Lucknow:  — 

"A  bhajan  is  composed  of  three  parts:  first,  the 
prelude,  which  usually  concludes  with  a  repetition 
of  its  opening  strain;  then  follows  the  air  proper, 
consisting  of  two  or  four  lines,  these  being  repeated 
severally  or  otherwise ;  after  which  the  refrain  be- 
gins. This  generally  leads  back  to  the  latter  part 
of  the  prelude,  ending  with  its  last  strain.  The 
second,  as  well  as  each  succeeding  verse,  begins 
with  the  air  and  closes  with  the  refrain." 

Moderately  fast. 


Prelude  and  Refrain. 

,   0 

Bhajan. 

'  y  1  ^>           N     ft. 

, 

1^"*',            K,             ^              ^ — 1            1 

/T  b  ^      J          1        ^ 

"1        ^       ^ 

1       r    i'^    r     J 

irh-^  1    4     J      ! 

\A)    4-^2* 

S,      J      #' 

-f    d    €     ^  ■  ■€    «    • 

U                  t                     b 

Yi  -  shu    Ma  -  sih    me  -  ro     pra   -    na     ba  -   chai  -  yd, 

(my    O     •          1^ 

r^    m 

r    • 

'     ^          J 

(<?J«i    Z     f       ]        . 

J     1 

1 

•    ^    1 

\^\?  '1           ^       ^ 

^ 

~s        s     \ . 

"*          '      1 

^4                 J 

L ^ 

_K W. y 

AGKA    AND    THE    TAJ  MAHAL. 


18:; 


i 


^    Fine. 


Z)     * 


v^m 


"-5=^- 


pra  -    na       ba    -    chai    -  yd.        Yi  -  shu      Ma  -    sih. 


I 


m 


|] 


Air. 


s-^ 


2=i^=f 


Jo       pa  -   pi     Yi    - 


shii    ka  -  ne      a  -  we.        Yi-shii 


m 


^=^ 


3tz«: 


^M=^^ 

^— t^- 

=]-^=r 

v.c. 

1             hai    wa  -  ki 

muk-ti     ka  - 

rai  -  yd, 

tnuk  -  ti    ka  -   rai  -  yd. 

^>rH-t^- 

Fr  ~7  #'  1 

-^Hi- 

r^^:;r^-*-i 

^>^  • — J — •- 

J — ^« — ^^ — 

1 

-' — r- 

1 — "^ — -* — M 

2.  Yishu  Ma  -  |  sih  ki  main  |  bali  bali  |  jaiiiun, 
Yishu  I  hai  mero  |  trdna  ka-  |  raiyd. 

3.  Gahiri  wuh  |  nadiyd  |  nawa  pu  -  |  rdni ; 
Yishu  I  hai  mero  |  pdra  ka-  |  raiyd. 

4.  Dina  |  ndtha  a-  |  ndtha  ke  ]  bandhii ; 
Tuma  hi  |  ho,  Prabhu,  |  pdpa  ha  -  |  raiyd. 

5.  Asi  ko  I  apani  |  sharana  men  |  rakhiyo  ; 
Anta  sa  -  |  mai  meri  |  lije  kha  -  |  bariya. 


1  Sometimes  sung  thus 
^n— ' "—r^J f^— ^^x=f=i 


1 86 


A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 


In  moderate  time. 
Prelude. 


Bhajan. 


Kyiin  ma   na  bhvi-la   hai      yih     san  -  sa      ra,  sa  -  ra 


^ 


t^ 


^^ 


m 


n 


s 


Sni: 


V  *    » — *— w — r 

de         tu  -  ka      ka  -  ra     le     gii 


Ma- 


fflS^ 


na    ma  -  ta 


A— •- 


I  J/. 


ifd: 


V    2rf. 


8=^3=4? 


.•R*  Refrain. 


tt 


a 


-#-^ 


-• — •- 


5-— *-— T^ 


^ 


ra,      za  -    ra  Kyiin    ma  -  na  bhii  -  la 


hai 


i 


-tr=^ 


Fine. 


?3 


^j 


W^- 


fcrt 


^^— #^ 


san    -    sa  -  ra 


^      ^       ^^  ^^ 


i^r 


yih 


Kyiin   ma  -  na     bhu  -  la     hai. 


m. 


w 


t=t 


1 


Gazals,    sung    in    Urdu, —  the    language    of   Ma- 
hometans and  of  commerce,  the  French  of  India, — 


AGRA    AND    THE    TAJ  MAHAL. 


187 


generally  consist  of  a  prelude,  air,  and  refrain. 
They  naturally  resemble  Persian  and  Arabian 
models. 


Moderately  fast. 
Prelude. 


Gazal. 


^r^^ 


Uth  mu-sa  -  fir.  .    kar  tai-ya-  ri      ab      to  kuchh  din 


1^ 


J: 


3^^: 


-•-   lit  -#-    ip:  I 


bhi    na-hin   hai       Dil    ka-hin  di    -da      ka  -  hin   aur 


• — r 


ir-\-t-^ 


_     ;S;  Refrain. 


1  =ir=#-i^  -^ 


ash  -  ka  an  -  khon  men   na  -  hin  hai.  Uth  mu-sa  -  fii 


'"A^-m^-m—* 


-#-r 


x=x 


Fine. 


^         ^.    =#=    =#^  ^  =if      =#=.    J    ^     ^     -^-    5    "^     =#= 


I  kar    tai  -  ya 


ri       ab      to  kuchh  din  bhi    na  hin  -  hai 


::rjr 


i 


A    GIRVS   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 


Air. 


3^ 


'f=^ 


-1.^ Jq: 


yan 


1= 


Lag     ra  -  ha     hai     chal    cha  -  la 


rat 


w^ 


o  -  din 


--^ 


^^ 


I 
yak 


ba  -  ra    -    bar    Mau 


ta    ka 


m 


I).S. 


-4-. — H ^-^ — I 1 ^— I 1 1 \ — I h- 

lit.  -t  jr*  i  i:  *  s  T**  i.  i  |:  5 

ka      ba  -  je  .  .  hai     kya    tu  -  jhe  kuchh  gam  na  -hin  hai. 


W^ 


w, 


5 


t=^^ 


--t3t 


2.  Maut  kya  ja  -  |  ne  larakpan  |  kya  burhapa  |  kya  jawani, 
Kya  amiri  |  kya  faqi'ri  |  maut  ko  par  -  |  wah  nahin  hai. 

3.  Kya  tin'  an  -  |  khon  men  ab  tak  |  ni'nd  gaflat  |  ki  bari  hai, 
Bhai  aur  ma  -  ]  dar  pidar  yan  |  koi  bhi"ap  -  |  na  nahi'n  hai. 

4.  Mai  o  daulat   |  shan  o  shaukat  |  in  men  dhokha  |  hai  sarasar, 
Sari  dunya    |  koi  kamavve  |  tau  bhi  kuchh  hasil  |  nahin  hai. 

5.  Hai  shajar  par  |  khar  dunya  |  zindagani  |  hai  kahani, 

Gam  alam  ma  -  |  tam  siwa  koi  |  aura  is  men  |  phal  nahin  hai. 

6.  Hai  mara  rah  -  |  mara  dunya  |  zahr  qatil  |  se  bhari  hai, 
Is  ka  kata  |  koi  musafir  |  eka  dam  ji  -  |  ta  nahin  hai. 

7.  Jaish  o  Jamshed  |  o  Farediin  |  Bahman  o  Da  -  |  ra  Sikandar, 
Mil  gae  sab  |  khaka  men  un  |  ka  pata  mil  -  |  ta  nahin  hai. 

8.  Hai  khushi  I  -  |  sa  Masih  men  |  raha  haqq  Sa  -  |  bir  wuhi  hai, 
Kyiin  phire  bhat  -  |  ka  musafir,  |  aur  to  koi  |  rah  nahin  hai. 


AGMA   AND    THE    TAJ  MAHAL.  1 89 

A  musician  has  said  that  these  mournful,  un- 
satisfied, expectant  endings  give  us  a  clew  to  the 
minds  of  the  people  of  India.  From  the  very 
first  note  the  immovable  Asiatics  preserved  the 
peculiar,  impassive,  and  devotional  expression  of 
face  as  if  performing  a  religious  rite;  and  indeed 
no  one  could  be  indifferent  to  the  beauties  of  the 
venerable  Vedic  tunes,  which  seem  in  their  strange- 
ness to  reach  back  to  the  reeds  of  Jubal  or  to  their 
own  Krishna  fluting  to  his  maids.  As  the  conch- 
shell  holds  forever  the  murmur  of  the  sea  where 
it  was  born,  so  the  wind-voiced  music  of  India 
retains  its  birthright, — the  rhymes  of  Nature,  for 
whose  worship  it  was  created.  The  palm-whis- 
pers of  her  forests,  the  cry  of  her  famines,  the 
scorched  Asoka  blossoms  withering  on  the  dead 
earth,  breathed  a  pathos  into  every  note  of  the 
music. 

"  'T  was  not  the  air,  't  was  not  the  words, 
But  that  deep  magic  in  the  chords, 
And  in  the  lips  that  gave  such  power." 

And  we  were  like  Salim,  who,   listening  to  Nour- 
mahal's  enchanting  song,   had  lain  — 

"  Some  moments  rapt  as  in  a  trance. 
After  the  fairy  sounds  were  o'er. 
Too  inly  touched  for  utterance, 

Now  motioned  with  his  hand  for  more." 


190  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

I  think  we  spent  the  greater  part  of  that  evening 
"motioning  for  more,"  until  the  boys  finally  grew 
weary,  and  we  invoked  the  rector  to  express  our 
pleasure;  and  I  dare  say,  from  the  delighted  ex- 
pression of  the  singers,  it  was  very  neatly  and 
creditably  done.  And  so,  raising  the  right  hand, 
the  students  salaamed  their  host,  and  said  good- 
night in  the  Eastern  fashion,  which  was  probably 
something  like  this:  "The  humble  slave  of  your 
Gracious  Majesty  considers  it  an  honor  to  cross 
the  threshold  of  his  palatial  dwelling;"  to  which 
the  rector  inclines  his  head  profoundly  and  replies, 
"The  servant  of  your  Gracious  Lordship  is  most 
grateful  for  the  honor  of  entertaining  the  most 
noble  lords  in  his  miserable  hut;"  and  we  also 
arise  and  say  our  regret  at  leaving  with  much  more 
truth  than  usually  slips  into  the  Western  speech 
of  the  mem-logs  (white  ladies). 


AT  FUTTEHPORE  SIKRI.  1 9: 


CHAPTER   XII. 

AT   FUTTEHPORE   SIKRI. 

February  12. 

HOW  nearly  we  lost  Futtehpore,  that  loveliest 
of  places !  How  few  travellers  visit  it !  but 
it  is  not  perhaps  the  less  worthy  on  that  ac- 
count. The  drive  to  Futtehpore  Sikri  takes  three 
hours  and  a  half.  Relays  of  horses  are  stationed 
at  intervals  of  six  miles  on  the  road,  where  we 
were  always  greeted  by  packs  of  children,  coming 
apparently  out  of  the  ground,  for  no  dwellings, 
mud-huts,  or  other  habitations  were  to  be  seen,  — 
thin,  undeveloped,  half-dressed  children,  who  first 
satisfied  their  curiosity  about  our  clothes,  and  then 
whined  for  backsheesh  as  loudly  as  their  poor  little 
throats  would  let  them.  But  as  this  goes  on  all  day, 
nobody  minds  it;  and  it  did  not  in  the  least  disturb 
the  remarks  of  our  vis-a-vis,  the  rector,  who  enter- 
tained us  during  the  drive  by  telling  stories  of  na- 
tive character.  Among  other  things  he  told  us  that 
"in  the  interior  of  India  there  exists  a  people  called 
Thugs, — a  separate   caste  who   worship   Kali,    the 


192  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  AV  INDIA. 

fearful  wife  of  Siva,  a  furious  goddess,  hideous  in 
features,  with  a  necklace  of  human  skulls  smeared 
with  blood.  She  is  the  patroness  of  the  Thugs, 
who  travel  about  the  country  committing  crimes 
in  her  honor.  An  inhabitant  who  wishes  to  secure 
his  house  from  robbery  goes  to  one  of  the  brigands 
and  says,  'Now,  look  here;  I  will  pay  you  two  rupees 
a  month,  and  I  expect  you  to  see  to  it  that  my 
goods  are  not  stolen.'  This  puts  the  Thug  on  his 
mettle;  and  if  anything  happens  during  the  month 
to  disturb  your  peace,  you  just  go  to  your  man,  and 
he,  knowing  well  the  members  of  his  caste,  will  at 
once  find  out  the  thief  and  restore  your  property, — 
all  of  which  seems  to  suggest  that  the  old  saying, 
'Set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief,'  originated  in  the 
country  of  the  Thugs." 

In  the  Hindustani  language  there  seems  to  be 
no  word  corresponding  to  honor.  On  all  sides  we 
hear  complaints  and  outcries  at  the  chronic  state 
of  dishonesty  among  domestic  servants.  There  is 
no  doubt  about  it,  they  will  all  cheat  you  right  and 
left ;  and  one  learns  to  accept  this  state  of  things 
as  a  necessary  condition  of  Indian  life.  In  proof  of 
this,  I  remember  that  an  Anglo-Indian  lady,  who 
might  be  trusted  to  state  the  facts  very  fairly,  and 
who  I  thought  had  great  cause  for  bemoaning  this 
state  of  things,  once  told  me  that  when  her  kansa- 
mah  presents  his  bill  of  monthly  expenditures  at 


AT  FUTTEHPORE  SIKRI. 


193 


the  bazaars,  or  markets,  she  merely  glances  at  the 
account ;  and  if  the  sum  is  fifty  rupees,  she  reckons 
at  once  that  thirty-five  rupees  is  the  correct  amount, 
and  offers  it  to  her  butler,  who,  well  knowing  that 
it  is  right,  receives  it  very  contentedly.  As  for 
keeping  a  cow  in  India  and  enjoying  the  luxury  of 
fresh  milk,  this  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  Your  ser- 
vant would  always  assure  you  that  yours  was  a  very 
bad  cow,  and  did  not  give  any  milk,  in  order  to 
force  you  to  buy  from  the  milkmen,  for  the  sake  of 
a  commission;  and  on  every  article  which  comes 
into  your  house  you  pay  a  price  which  includes 
the  servant's  commission  of  four  annas.  Another 
lady  told  us  that  her  domestics  insist  that  the  hens 
do  not  lay  eggs;  and  then  immediately  produce 
a  basket,  which  she  pays  for,  knowing  well  she  is 
buying  the  very  eggs  her  own  fowls  have  laid. 

On  arriving  at  Futtehpore,  our  guide,  according 
to  his  own  statement,  was  a  nephew  of  the  old  cus- 
todian of  the  place,  a  descendant  of  the  prophet 
Jacob  and  of  Sheik  Salim  Chisti,  the  favorite  and 
saint  of  Akbar's  time,  whose  family  have  lived 
here  for  three  hundred  years.  Futtehpore  Sikri 
is  a  city  of  palaces,  a  well-preserved  mass  of  the 
finest  style  of  Hindu  and  Mahometan  architecture, 
built  entirely  of  the  ruddy  sandstone  which  resists 
so  well  the  effect  of  time  and  climate.  It  is  said 
that  the  palaces,   temples,  shrines,  and  carved  coL 

13 


194  ^    GIRVS   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

onnades,  which  in  Akbar's  time  covered  over  two 
square  miles,  were  only  occupied  for  fifty  years, 
and  then  deserted  at  the  bidding  of  the  Moslem 
saint,  Salim  Chisti ;  but  one  would  much  more 
readily  believe  it  was  the  stagnant  water  that  drove 
the  court  to  Agra. 

This  pleasure-city  covers  the  only  high  spot  for 
miles.  There  is  one  fiat  plain  stretching  from  Agra 
to  Futtehpore  Sikri,  which  we  approach  through  an 
avenue  of  fine  trees.  Below  the  walls  are  level 
plains  like  the  Roman  Campagna;  there  is  the 
same  aspect  of  dry,  grassy  turf,  through  which 
stretch  white  roads,  which  grow  fainter  and  gradu- 
ally disappear  in  the  distance.  A  few  ruins  of  red 
sandstone  arches  break  the  view  here  and  there, 
like  the  remains  of  the  old  Roman  aqueducts.  The 
people  in  the  little  village  lie  about  the  streets, 
and  sleep  away  the  sunny  hours,  which  has  a  de- 
cided flavor  of  dolce  far  niente ;  while  a  still  greater 
resemblance  exists  in  the  abundance  of  little  in- 
sects in  the  village  itself,  filthy  to  the  last  degree, 
and  odorous. 

The  history  of  Akbar,  the  founder  of  Futtehpore, 
is  so  entangled  in  tradition,  in  mystery  and  un- 
reality, that  it  is  bewildering.  The  Great  Mogul 
was  the  first  of  the  Tartars  to  behave  himself  like 
a  Persian  sovereign.  He  was  a  contemporary  of 
Queen  Elizabeth,  liberal,  but  showing  at  the  same 


AT  FUTTEHPORE  SIKRL  195 

time  the  Tartar  nature  of  his  ancestor,  Genghis 
Khan;  personally  the  very  flower  of  his  age,  hand- 
some, skilled  as  a  workman,  and  so  courageous  that 
it  is  said  he  would  spring  on  the  back  of  a  young 
elephant  who  had  killed  his  keeper,  and  compel  it 
to  do  his  bidding.  In  religion  he  was  a  liberal, 
indulging  in  wine;  neither  a  Mahometan  nor  yet  a 
Hindu  or  a  sun-worshipper,  he  tolerated  all  creeds 
and  isms;  and  for  a  time  even  the  Jesuit  missiona- 
ries imagined  they  had  converted  the  Great  Mogul. 
At  last,  however,  the  seductive  flattery  of  his  Mos- 
lem wives  gained  the  day,  and  Akbar  was  induced 
to  believe  himself  the  "Lord  of  the  Period,"  and 
equal  to  the  Prophet  himself.  Next,  the  wily  minis- 
ter Abdul  Fayel  would  have  him  deified;  and  every 
morning  from  a  palace  window  he  presented  him- 
self for  adoration  as  the  incarnate  Krishna,  "a  ray 
of  the  sun's  rays."  Then  he  died;  and  at  Secundra 
his  body  lies  in  the  noblest  mausoleum  in  all  India. 
You  enter  the  courts,  passing  under  a  high 
gateway, —the  Bouland  Dar  Wage, — a  triumphal 
arch,  on  which  are  inscribed  the  conquests  of  the 
"Shadow  of  God,"  Jubal-udin-Mohund  Kham,  the 
emperor,  which  dates  about  1610  a.  d.  On  the 
reverse  of  the  entrance-gate  is  a  verse,  which  after 
the  manner  of  guides  is  translated  for  us  in  a  mu- 
sical utterance  of  misfit  words,  and  being  inter- 
preted, reads:  "Jesus,  on  whom  be  peace,  said,  'The 


196  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

world  is  a  bridge;  pass  over  it,  but  build  no  house 
there:  he  who  hopeth  for  an  hour  may  hope  for 
eternity.  The  world  lasts  but  an  hour,  spend  it  in 
devotion;  the  rest  is  unseen.'" 

But  I  like  most  the  fine  tomb  of  the  holy  fakir 
Salim;  but  which  is  the  more  remarkable,  the  great 
white  mosque  in  the  centre  of  the  marble  cloisters, 
or  the  delicate  workmanship  and  lace-carved  marble 
panels  of  the  saint's  shrine.'*  It  would  require  more 
than  a  day  to  see  it  all.  The  house  of  Birloul,  the 
Hindu  favorite  of  the  emperor,  whose  dwelling  has 
been  compared  to  the  mansion  of  a  Cyclops,  passed 
through  the  hands  of  a  Chinese  sculptor  and  the 
treasury, —  a  labyrinth,  where  tradition  says  Akbar 
played  hide-and-seek  with  his  merry  wives ;  and  then 
the  Panch  Mahal,  or  five-storied  pavilion,  built  en- 
tirely of  massive  red  sandstone,  the  capitals  varying 
in  design,  — the  one  the  guide  pointed  out  was  an 
original  decoration,  representing  intertwining  ele- 
phants' tusks;  but  after  all  I  can  only  give  the 
merest  hint  of  it. 

Suddenly  the  two  natives  appear  on  the  top  of  the 
tessellated  walls,  and  jump  into  a  large  open  well 
eighty  feet  below.  The  water  was  covered  with  a 
thick,  malarious  slime,  a  large  hole  being  cut  in  it 
where  the  divers  struck  the  water;  and  they  were 
as  green  as  bull-frogs  when  they  left  the  pool, 
and  came  sputtering  toward  us  for  rupees.     They 


AT  FUTTEHPORE  SIKRL  igy 

pleaded  in  vain  for  an  encore  of  the  proceeding-. 
How  I  dislike  to  see  people  thoughtlessly  and  stu- 
pidly risk  a  broken  neck!  Returning  to  Agra,  we 
became  discoursive  again.  This  time  it  is  Indian 
politics. 

"A  conqueror  is  never  popular  even  when  gov- 
erning under  the  name  of  Reform.  The  miracle  of 
this  age  is  the  holding  of  India  by  the  English, — 
about  one  hundred  thousand  troops  against  native 
artillerists,  gunners,  etc.,"  argued  the  Americans. 

"But,"  asked  the  English,  "were  the  Hindus 
ever  better  off  in  schools,  in  the  administration  of 
just  laws,  in  newspapers.?  And  then  how  about 
the  native  Indian  Congress.?" 

"But,"  I  replied,  "do  you  suppose  the  native  is 
grateful  for  all  these  things.?  Have  you  heard  the 
story  which  occurs  to  me  just  now.?  A  very  poor 
and  wretched  native  and  an  Englishwoman  were 
once  stopping  before  a  half-ruined  mosque  on  the 
roadside  to  Secundra,  and  after  some  talk  between 
them,  the  native  said,  'You  English  cannot  give 
us  anything  so  beautiful.'  'No,'  said  the  woman; 
'but  then  we  give  you  bridges,  good  roads,  good 
government,  and  railway  trains.'  But  the  native 
answered  very  seriously,  *It  is  worth  three  days  of 
hunger  to  see  a  thing  like  this.'  " 

Then  followed  a  general  agreement  from  all  sides 
that  the  English,  while  professing  not  to  uphold 


198  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

caste,  have  themselves  founded  a  new  one,  by  refus- 
ing to  meet  the  natives  on  an  equal  footing,  except 
in  the  civil  offices  and  the  street  cars ;  and  that  even 
the  Eurasians  are  made  to  suffer  from  this  hauteur 
of  the  English  towards  the  national  aristocracy. 

And    thus    the    talk    ran   on   until   we    reached 
Agra. 


DELHI  AND   ITS  RUINS.  1 99 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

DELHI  AND   ITS   RUINS. 

February  13. 

TT/'E  have  passed  over  the  Jumna,  and  the  train 
^  '  has  stopped  at  Delhi,  known  as  Shah  Je- 
hanabad,  or  the  City  of  Shah  Jehan,  he  who  builded 
more  lavishly  and  splendidly  than  any  other  man 
that  ever  lived.  Now,  as  in  old  days,  Delhi  is  sur- 
rounded by  a  tessellated  wall,  enclosing  a  city  of 
domes  and  towers,  of  minarets  and  temples,  half 
visible  through  the  dense  foliage  of  acacia-trees. 
Delhi  was  never  a  great  city  under  the  Mahome- 
tans. Talboys  Wheeler  says  that  "  it  was  a  camp 
turned  into  a  capital.  There  were  broad  streets 
and  narrow  lanes,  but  the  bulk  of  the  houses  were 
mud  huts,  little  better  than  common  tents;  and 
even  the  mansions  of  the  grandees,  with  their  im- 
posing gateways  and  courtyards,  were  mostly  built 
of  clay,  whitened  with  lime.  The  Mahometan 
courtiers,  whether  Persians  or  Turks,  were  crea- 
tures of  a  day;  their  wealth  depended  solely  on 
favor  with  the  sultan.  They  had  no  landed  es- 
tates; but  the  princes  of  Rajputana,  who  dwelt  at 


200  A    GIRVS   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

court,   built  the   great  palaces  of  Agra  and  Delhi, 
and  built  them  for  all  time." 

North-Brook  Hotel  is  close  beside  the  old  city 
wall;  and  sometimes  in  the  late  afternoon  we  walk 
through  a  lane,  formed  by  its  stony  sides,  to  the 
modern  town,  pass  in  the  yellow  sunset  caravans 
of  camels,  each  one  tied  by  the  tail  to  the  head- 
stall of  the  camel  behind,  all  in  single  file,  their 
long  necks  undulating,  sometimes  stretched  high  in 
air  to  pull  off  the  green  branches  of  the  trees.  In 
some  places  in  the  East  it  is  customary  to  harness 
a  pair  of  camels  to  a  London  mail-phaeton.  I  won- 
der if  this  will  be  the  next  fad  at  Windsor  Castle, 
imported  along  with  Hindustani  servants  and  In- 
dian maharajahs.  The  devoirs  of  these  beasts  have 
a  wide  range, —  serving  cavalry  regiments,  for  post- 
office  delivery,  hauling  rails  for  the  iron  roads,  often 
yoked  with  a  bullock  before  the  plough  at  a  decided 
loss  of  the  camel's  dignity.  So  they  serve  in  many 
ways  and  many  works ;  but  they  have  their  play-day 
in  the  rainy  season.  Then,  according  to  our  native 
guide,  "camels  no  work  can,  stay  down  in  mud 
with  roads;"  which  being  interpreted  means  that 
the  lengthy  limbs  of  the  ''ship  of  the  desert"  can 
only  be  navigated  in  fair  weather. 

Often  we  spend  an  entire  day  with  the  Delhi 
shopkeepers, —  insinuating,  dark-eyed  men,  who  are 
models  of  patience  and  perseverance.     In  sea-green 


DELHI  AND  ITS  RUINS.  201 

cap,  with  pink  sleeves  under  a  gold-embroidered 
jacket,  as  I  am  writing  Chotey  Lall  is  sitting  on 
the  floor  in  our  room,  doing  up  in  a  muslin  bundle 
his  brilliant  heap  of  cashmeres,  Kutch  silver,  and 
embroideries,  which  we  have  inspected  for  the 
fourth  time  to-day.  Chotey  is  a  rich  and  famous 
merchant,  whose  "curios"  and  Indian  jewelry  are 
recommended  by  the  advertisement  card  to  have 
the  double  good  fortune  of  being  "under  the  distin- 
guished patronage  of  His  Royal  Highness,  the  Duke 
of  Connaught,  and  always  in  stock,"  —  two  titles  to 
British  favor.  This  distinction  does  not  deter  him 
from  running  after  our  carriage,  pointing  out  the 
well-thumbed  name  of  Lady  Jersey  in  his  open 
book,  who  therein  inscribes  herself  "satisfied  with 
goods  purchased." 

By  this  time  we  know  all  the  jewellers  of  Delhi, 
and  are  known  of  them.  We  have  had  five  seated 
before  us  to-day,  and  many  others  outside  the  room, 
"who  only  stand  and  wait"  their  chance, —  Moote 
Ram,  and  Chrisum  Chund,  and  Hugi  Mull,  and  other 
Mulls  and  Dasses  and  Rams,  all  polite  and  unruffled 
under  sharp  orders  from  Shanker  to  "clear  out," 
"who  told  you  to  come  in?  "  "do  go,"  etc.  ;  but  the 
ebony  tempters  placidly  unfold  rubies  and  precious 
stones  as  undauntedly  as  before.  "Be  still,  pack  up 
your  bundle,  jow !  "  we  cry,  exasperated.  They  reply 
collectively,  a  well-feigned  disappointment  written 


202  A    GIRVS   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

all  over  their  faces,  "  I  am  sorry  you  not  buy  any- 
thing from  me,"  and  generally  press  you  "not  to  buy, 
only  see;  "  and  then  the  bargain  begins.  "What  '11 
you  take  for  that  pin  ?  "  —  a  bar  of  half-a-dozen  light 
sapphires.  "Asking  price  fifty  rupees,  selling  price 
thirty-five  rupees,"  replies  this  self-convicted  extor- 
tioner; and  the  handsome  eyes  look  very  honestly 
in  your  face.  "  Believe  my  word,  Mem  Sahib,  that 
my  cost  price."  Now  is  the  time  to  be  utterly  in- 
different, telling  him  quietly  that  twenty  rupees  is 
your  last  word ;  and  repeat  very  strongly,  "  Well,  if 
you  will  not  take  my  offer,  go  !  "  Ram  deliberately 
packs,  and  ties  up  the  muslin  sheet  used  for  trans- 
porting the  wares  from  the  shop,  pausing  frequently 
to  discover  any  signs  of  your  relenting;  and  at  the 
end,  if  you  hold  out,  he  says,  infallibly,  and  without 
emotion,  two  words, —  "Take  it."  No  more, —  you 
have  concluded  the  affair.  The  boy  Shanker  told 
us  to-day  that  the  customary  fee  to  a  private  servant 
is  two  pice  on  each  rupee,  besides  which  each  shop- 
keeper pays  a  commission  of  fifty  rupees  yearly  to 
the  hotel  for  the  privilege  of  conducting  these 
transactions. 

Although  nearly  a  week  in  Delhi,  and  almost  in 
sight  of  the  Chandni  Choak,  three  of  Eve's  descend- 
ants have  so  far  resisted  the  glitter  and  glamor  of 
the  alluring  jewelry  bazaars.  This  is  quite  enough 
triumph.     There  is  no  question  of  holding  out  an- 


DELHI  AND  ITS  RUINS.  203 

Other  day.  Sundry  curious  necklaces  of  Indian 
design  handed  about  the  parlors  last  evening  af- 
ter tabic  iT Jiotc,  and  declared  by  their  owners  to 
be  "great  bargains,"  have  made  this  impossible. 
Shanker  is  forthwith  despatched  for  a  suitable  con- 
veyance; and  rushes  wildly  toward  us,  followed  by 
a  rather  shabby  little  slatted  box  on  wheels,  with 
"  No.  I  "  painted  conspicuously  on  the  door-panels, 
—  a  necessary  precaution,  to  distinguish  it  from  its 
poor  relation,  the  second-class  gharri.  Between  us 
and  that  little  carriage  is  a  crowd  of  tradesmen,  con- 
jured up  by  our  appearance  at  the  door  of  the  ho- 
tel, each  holding  high  his  card  and  pressing  it  into 
our  hands,  and  every  one  speaking  broken  English 
in  a  chorus :  "  Miss  Sahib,  you  come  to  my  shop ; 
I  am  very  cheap  man,  I  not  want  to  make  profit ; 
I  have  very  good  curiosities  to  show  you;"  and 
even  after  we  were  fairly  seated  the  horses  could 
not  move,  so  great  was  the  throng  of  them.  "  Chalo  ! 
juldi!  jow!  "  or  any  other  Hindustani  phrases,  how- 
ever peremptory,  had  no  effect.  The  superstitious 
creatures  finally  play  their  great  card,  running  after 
our  carriage  with  several  articles  in  their  hands, 
entreating,  ''  Mem  Sahib,  make  bargain,  make  offer, 
morning  time,  want  to  sell  something;"  or,  when 
night  comes,  "Don't  sell  anything  to-day;  how 
much  you  give  ? "  Every  day  there  is  the  same 
ordeal   to    be  passed,    with   additions;  and  at   last 


204  ^    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

they  ride  on  the  steps  of  your  carriage,  and  order 
your  gharri -wallah  to  stop  before  their  shops  when 
driving  by  them. 

Our  syce  took  us  by  devious  ways  through  the  al- 
luring and  fascinating  streets  of  the  Chandni  Choak 
and  silver  bazaar.  We  suspect  he  well  knew  there 
is  a  limit  to  every  tourist's  resistance  to  temptation, 
and  we  would  reach  ours  among  the  jewels  of  the 
Choak ;  so  it  proved.  They  all  have  an  exaggerated 
idea  of  our  requirements,  and  insist  on  showing  us 
jewelry  which  we  have  not  the  slightest  idea  of 
buying.  We  lingered  hours  before  these  glitter- 
ing things,  whose  owners  said  in  such  a  beseech- 
ing way,  "Don't  buy,  only  look;"  and  the  cunning 
Hindu  outside  rested  his  horses  and  himself,  and 
contemplated  placidly  the  amount  of  rupees  he 
would  snugly  tuck  away  that  night  in  the  white 
folds  of  his  native  drapery  as  a  result  of  the  multi- 
plication by  hours  of  two  rupees,  the  rate  of  carriage 
hire.  We  ended  by  leaving  it  all.  It  is  strange 
that  at  first  you  meant  to  buy  everything,  but  the 
more  you  look  at  the  santosJids,  "contentments,"  as 
the  native  ladies  call  them,  the  more  you  find  a 
satiated  feeling  taking  the  place  of  first  enthusiasm ; 
and  what  you  formerly  coveted,  you  would  now  re- 
fuse at  any  price.  And  so,  half  an  hour  later  that 
day,  we  were  wandering  through  the  great  Imperial 
Palace  of  the  Moguls,  on  the  Jumna. 


DELHI  AND   ITS  RUINS.  205 

We  have  seen  nothing  in  India  so  beautiful  as 
this  building.  You  enter  through  the  Lahore  Gate, 
made  of  massive  red  sandstone  like  the  walls  and 
towers,  forming  a  vaulted  hall  three  hundred  and 
seventy-five  feet  long,  and  said  to  be  "the  noblest 
entrance  known  to  any  existing  palace,"  presenting 
very  much  the  effect  of  a  gigantic  Gothic  cathe- 
dral. So  far  as  the  eye  can  see,  lofty  sandstone 
walls  enclose  an  area  over  one  thousand  feet  long 
by  five  hundred  wide,  covered  with  splendid  mus- 
jids,  silvery  minarets,  and  lovely  outlines  of  domes 
and  marble  columns.  There  are  clusters  of  military 
barracks  here  and  there,  open  squares,  bronze  rows 
of  captured  cannon,  inscribed  with  English  victories; 
for  now  the  red-coated  soldiers  are  quartered  among 
the  most  splendid  monuments  of  a  fallen  power. 

We  go  first  to  the  Diwan-i-An,  an  audience  hall 
of  polished  marble  glistening  with  inlaid  work  of 
precious  stones,  which  leads  to  the  Moti  Musjid, 
the  baths,  and  the  zenana.  But  the  chief  wonder 
is  still  unseen.  It  is  the  Diwan-i-Kass,  the  private 
hall  of  audience, —  and,  as  it  were,  the  very  jewel 
in  the  lotus  among  the  buildings  in  the  fort.  It 
is  also  of  white  marble,  exquisitely  sculptured ;  and 
the  long  lines  of  columns,  ornamented  on  the  marble 
with  gold  and  colors  in  flower-clusters,  are  quite  new 
to  us  and  our  ideas.  The  designs  are  like  the  ceil- 
ing, which  our  guide  tells  us  was  once  plated  with 


206  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

silver;  as  if  Shah  Jehan  had  drawn  up  the  contract 
with  the  obliging  Genie,  whom  Aladdin  summoned 
to  build  him  a  palace  worthy  to  receive  the  Prin- 
cess Buddir.  Genie  commands  the  lucky  son  of  the 
Chinese  tailor:  "Let  its  material  be  made  of  noth- 
ing less  than  porphyry,  jasper,  agate,  lapis-lazuli, 
and  the  finest  marble;  let  its  walls  be  of  massive 
gold  and  silver  bricks,  laid  alternately,  so  they  shall 
exceed  everything  of  the  kind  ever  seen  in  the 
world."  And  indeed  this  palace  so  far  answers  to 
this  description  that  you  can  read  over  the  Moor- 
ish arches  a  gilded  inscription  in  Persian :  "  If  there 
be  an  elysium  on  earth,  it  is  this, — it  is  this." 
Here  was  the  peacock  throne,  whose  fabulous  cost 
never  fails  to  reward  the  guide  with  little  exclama- 
tions of  "oh's"  and  "ah's"  from  the  tourist,  who 
can  as  a  rule  appreciate  plain  figures  if  not  the 
subtle  sentiment  of  the  Taj.  Nothing  I  can  say 
about  it  will  not  be  better  said  by  the  guide-book : 
*'  In  the  centre  of  this  hall  stands  a  white  marble 
dais,  on  which  was  once  placed  the  once-famous 
peacock  throne,  —  a  seat  between  the  peacocks, 
whose  spread  tails  were  encrusted  with  sapphires, 
diamonds,  rubies,  emeralds,  and  other  precious 
stones,  in  imitation  of  natural  cocks.  Over  the 
back  was  a  parrot,  said  to  have  been  carved  from 
a  single  emerald.  This  throne  is  reputed  to  have 
cost  three  millions  sterling." 


DELHI  AiVn   ITS  RUINS.  20/ 

Our  guide  leads  us  to  the  Rung  Mahal.  Every- 
where are  arabesque  screens  pierced  like  lace;  one 
of  them  is  matchless  in  all  India, —  a  cobweb  in 
marble.  The  zenana  and  children's  play-ground 
recall  memory  of  fairy  tales,  —  latticed  and  gilded, 
splendid  with  extravagant  fancies,  where  rose-water 
played  through  marble  fountains,  scattering  spray 
over  the  little  princes;  in  a  word,  the  refinement 
of  Saracenic  and  barbaric  splendor  in  the  East. 


208  A   GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

A  WELSH  RAREBIT. 

Delhi,  February  14. 

S HANKER  is  setting  our  lunch-table;  for  we 
have  deserted  the  table  d hote^  and  dine  in 
our  apartments, —  which  is  much  too  lofty  a  name, 
however,  for  a  sitting-room  and  two  stone-floored 
dressing-rooms  adjoining,  which  sounds  rather  well; 
but,  alas!  the  side  walls  have  scarcely  any  white- 
wash where  it  ought  to  be,  the  "water-supply"  is 
conspicuous  by  its  absence,  and  a  plain  iron  cot, 
made  presentable  by  our  travelling-rugs,  harmonizes 
with  the  other  appointments  of  the  "best  accommo- 
dations" at  North-Brook's. 

But  to  return  to  the  luncheon.  Our  table  has  a 
centre  decoration  of  some  glorious  greenish  oranges, 
bought  on  our  journey,  arranged  with  bright  leaves. 
The  fruit,  grown  at  Lahore,  very  much  resembles 
mandarins,  but  is  larger  and  sweeter,  and  covered 
with  a  thick,  loose  skin.  The  substantial  part  of 
the  meal  included  chops,  brought  in  on  a  gridiron 
having  four  iron  legs,  and  several  grooves  converg- 


A    WELSH  RAREBIT.  209 

ing  towards  a  centre,  on  which  the  meat  sizzles,  hot 
and  smoking.     This  is  an  original  manner  of  serv- 
ing hot  meat  at  table,  bridging  over  one  difficulty 
lying   in  the  culinary  path  of  housekeepers.     Our 
next   dish    is    one   which    has    shown   no    signs    of 
scarcity  since  we  reached  India, —  the  ever  present 
chicken,    or  "sudden   death,"  as  it  is   called    here, 
from  the  Anglo-Indian    custom  of   cooking  a  fowl 
that   has   been    running   about  the  garden  half  an 
hour  before.      Next,  we  have  bread  and  jam, —  the 
inevitable  jam  of  the  Anglo-Indians;  and  all  I  can 
say  for  the  accompanying  bread  is  that  it  is  baked 
on  hot  coals,  and  only  once   in  an  age  a  miracle 
occurs  which  turns  native  dough  into  good  bread. 
The  butter  made  of  the  milk  which  comes  from  the 
buffalo  is  thin  and  blue,  and  tastes  like  ham.     The 
most   aggravating   deprivation   to    condone    is    ice ; 
but   that  is  a  luxury  still   unrepresented   in  Delhi. 
On    the   whole,    the   Indian  cookery,    unvaried  and 
monotonous,  is  redeemed  by  the  chutneys  and  chil- 
lies, which  appear  to  be  the  spice  of  life  in  place 
of  variety. 

This  tiffin  was  the  type  of  all  succeeding  ones 
in  Delhi,  —  a  gastronomic  experience  occurring 
three  times  a  day,  proving  that  civilized  man  can- 
not only  live  without  civilized  cooking,  but  even 
become  ecstatic  over  the  country  where  he  submits 
to  it.     A  traveller  usually  arrives  sooner  or  later 

14 


2  10  A    GIRVS  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

at  a  fine   contempt  for   what  he  shall    eat,    and  a 
cheerful  one  as  to  what  he   shall  put  on. 

This  week  has  ended  in  our  making  one  grand  ex- 
cursion to  the  Kootub, —  the  highest  pillar  in  the 
world.  Thus  far  we  have  strayed  on  the  very  brink 
of  adventure,  and  circumstances  have  never  favored 
a  fall  in  the  stream.  I  have  thought  many  times, 
how  shall  I  be  forgiven  the  lack  of  hair-breadth 
escapes;  how  account  for  the  absence  in  my  jour- 
nal of  thrilling  tiger  stories  in  Indian  jungles; 
how  appease  the  expectations  of  those  who  wished 
me  a  safe  journey,  and  at  the  same  time  held  a 
strong  opinion  that  my  return  might  resemble  the 
young  lady  from  Niger,  ''who  smiled  as  she  rode 
on  the  tiger;  and  when  she  returned  from  that 
ride,  the  girl  was  inside,  and  the  smile  on  the  face 
of  the  tiger."  We  were  a  long  time  making  up 
our  minds  if  it  were  wise  to  venture  a  twenty-two 
mile  drive  in  the  noon-day  heat  and  sun,  but  de- 
termined to  take  the  risk,  —  an  adventure  at  last; 
and  B.  suggested  that  we  take  the  tiffin-basket  and 
make  a  Welsh  rarebit  under  the  Kootub.  The 
proposition  was  inspired,  and  awoke  in  us  a  sud- 
den hunger.  Half  an  hour  later  we  set  out  in 
good  form. 

The  railway  station  is  the  general  provision-shop 
of  Delhi  for  anything  besides  native  fare;  and 
with  feelings  of  profound  contentment  we  stopped 


RUINS    OF    TEMPLE    NEAR    KU()TL-B. 


A    WELSH  RAREBIT.  211 

the  carriage  in  passing,  and  bought  the  necessary 
ingredients  for  a  good  rarebit,  —  fresh  cheese,  and 
a  pale  green  bottle  labelled  "Very  light  Bass's  ale, 
bottled  especially  for  India."  Next,  we  turned 
through  the  narrow  streets,  making  our  way  slowly, 
almost  hopelessly,  through  herds  of  natives  utterly 
unmindful  of  us  and  without  curiosity,  not  even 
deigning  to  get  out  of  our  way.  Passing  the  city 
gates,  we  found  ourselves  in  the  grand  open  coun- 
try, interminable  and  impressive;  but  we  were  most 
thankful  for  the  quiet  in  contrast  to  the  "hum  of 
busy  cities." 

Modern  Delhi  is  surrounded  for  thirty  square 
miles  by  the  crumbling  remains  of  seven  cities. 
The  beautiful  mosques  and  palaces  are  half  in 
ruins,  but  still  give  a  fair  idea  of  the  ancient  days, 
as  almost  every  inch  of  roadway  is  bordered  by  the 
ruins  of  older  cities;  for  Hindus,  Afghans,  Tartars, 
and  Mahometans  have  in  turn  disputed  the  posses- 
sion of  marble  Delhi.  Now  it  is  a  pure  Mussul- 
man city;  and  the  Empress  of  India  has  more  sons 
of  the  Prophet  to  do  her  homage  than  has  the  sul- 
tan. What  prodigals  of  extravagance  were  the 
Moguls!  —  "splendid  spendthrifts,"  as  some  one 
has  called  them.  It  is  not  possible  to  conceive 
the  lavish  sums  spent  on  these  famous  residences 
of  the  emperors,  marble  zenanas,  the  baths,  the 
mausoleums,  embroidered  arches,  curves,  lines, —  a 


212  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

page  from  the  "Thousand  and  One  Nights  ;"  and 
it  was  only  yesterday  that  this  scene  was  peopled 
by  these  Moguls, —  not  like  the  pyramids,  far  down 
in  the  beginning  of  history,  but  yesterday,  in 
our  time  almost.  The  road  is  wide,  shaded  con- 
tinuously. 

Humayoon,  the  father  of  Akbar,  who  inherited 
Hindustan,  is  buried  in  a  magnificent  tomb,  half- 
way between  Delhi  and  Kootub,  which  tomb  is  a 
sketch  in  sandstone  of  his  marble  palace  in  Delhi, 
where  he  met  his  fate.  One  evening,  having  as- 
cended to  the  roof  to  say  his  prayers,  his  foot 
slipped,  and  he  fell  lifeless  on  the  pavement  below. 

What  a  love  of  luxury  and  magnificence  is  shown 
by  the  descendants  of  Mahmood  Gazna,  who  plun- 
dered the  temples  of  the  Rajputs,  and  converted 
them  to  the  religion  of  the  Koran.  An  hour  later 
we  sighted  the  Kootub' s  minar,  towering  two  hun- 
dred and  thirty-eight  feet  in  height.  It  is  divided 
into  five  stories  consisting  of  convex  flutings,  each 
story  finished  by  a  carved  gallery,  and  the  whole 
structure  embroidered  with  verses  from  the  Koran 
and  designs  of  arabesque  work.  The  guide-book 
supposes  it  to  be  the  most  perfect  tower  in  the 
world,  and  declares  its  carvings  to  be  as  fresh  as 
though  they  were  of  yesterday's  date,  though  it  is 
six  hundred  and  fifty  years  since  it  was  begun  by 
Kootub-ud-din    in    the    latter   part    of   the  twelfth 


A    WELSH  RAREBIT.  213 

century,  and  finally  completed  by  Altmish,  his  suc- 
cessor,   about   1 2 10  A.  D.  ;   and  it  has  looked  down 
on  an  unbroken  Mahometan  sway  until  the  Mutiny, 
in  1857.      Going  on,  you  pass   the  old   Hindu  for- 
tress   of    Lalkot    in    ruins,    but    still    massive    and 
imposing.       Mosques    and   palaces    of    Hindu    and 
Mahometan   architecture,   injured  by  Saracenic   in- 
vaders,   show    traces   of   wonderful    carving    in    an 
indescribable   variety  of  friezes,   capitals,  and    col- 
umns.    Close  by  stands  the  tower  of  Altmish, —  the 
most  beautiful  monument  I  have  seen  in  India,  and 
also    the  oldest.      In  the  centre  of  this  mosque  is 
a   curious    iron    pillar,    standing    twenty-two    feet 
above  the  ground;   no   doubt  the  guide   was    right 
in  saying,  "  It  was  erected  by  one  Rajah  Bhara  to 
commemorate  the  defeat  of  the  Bahilkas,  near  the 
seven    mouths    of   the    Indus,    in  360  a.  d.  "     Much 
more  astonishing  is  the  fact  that  the  ancient  Hin- 
dus   could    forge    a    pure    iron    bar,    heavier    than 
any  that  has  been   forged    until    our  time.      What 
pleased  me  most  were  the  inscriptions  in  Sanscrit, 
which  I  traced  with  my  finger,  keeping  in  mind  the 
thought  that  Bhara' s  workmen  who   hammered   the 
letters  little  thought  that  their  skill  would  be  pre- 
served and  guarded  by  a  conqueror  who  was  neither 
Persian  nor  Tartar,  but  the  British  Lion. 

Here,    under   the    shadows   of   Saracenic   arches, 
where  in  their  time  of  glory  no  infidel  would  have 


214  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

been  permitted  to  take  a  step,  now  nestles  under 
some  lovely  trees,  close  by  the  beautiful  Kootub,  a 
little  thatch-roofed  bungalow;  and  here  we  made  our 
Welsh  rarebit.  In  a  few  minutes  the  basket  was 
unpacked,  and  the  lunch  spread  on  the  piazza, 
protected  from  the  sun  and  dust  by  bamboo 
curtains. 

How  do  you  think  we  supplied  the  place  of  the 
chafing-dish  to  cook  the  cheese?  The  natives  cook 
on  the  ground,  in  a  clay  heap  scooped  out  to  hold 
a  few  charcoals.  They  use  earthernware  pots,  and 
brass  platters ;  and  going  into  a  native  cook-house 
means  such  a  revelation  of  dirt  and  uncleanliness 
that  no  recovery  following  a  first  visit  has  ever 
been  recorded.  So,  plainly,  we  could  not  venture 
to  cook  the  cheese  a  la  native.  After  much  dis- 
cussion with  our  guide,  he  brought  us  a  tin  sheet 
w^ith  hot  coals;  and  here  in  the  excitement  of  the 
moment  B.  and  I,  on  our  knees,  began  to  stir  the 
mixture  in  our  sauce-pan,  while  the  smoke  curled 
towards  the  Indian  sky,  and  lurid  flames  lit  up 
the  faces  of  our  audience.  We  had  a  crowd  of 
native  servants  watching  the  operations,  and  had  a 
strong  suspicion  that  our  cooking  very  much  low- 
ered our  dignity  in  their  eyes.  They  looked 
on  wonderingly,  not  understanding  how  a  Euro- 
pean could  voluntarily  choose  to  work  if  his  ser- 
vant were  there  to  do  it  for  him ;  and  I  fancy  they 


A    WELSH  RAREBIT.  21  q 

thought  it  had  to  do  with  some  incantation  or  re- 
ligious ceremony  peculiar  to  our  caste.  But  how 
good  it  all  was  after  the  struggle!  and  it  is  rea- 
sonable to  suppose  the  like  of  it  was  never  seen 
in  this  neighborhood,  in  Akbar's  time  or  since. 
You  are  thinking,  perhaps,  that  you  can  read  the 
history  of  Delhi  in  books;  but  no  one  has  written 
the  story  of  a  Welsh  rarebit  among  the  pleasure 
palaces  of  the  great  Moguls. 

February  i6. 

The  Nautch  dance  which  we  saw  last  evenino- 
was  something  like  this.  The  kansamah  of  North- 
Brook's  Hotel,  knowing  something  of  the  tourist 
nature  and  sight-seeing  propensities,  has  succeeded 
in  exciting  the  curiosity  of  several  "globe  trotters  " 
to  witness  a  Nautch  dance.  He  extolled  the  per- 
fections of  the  Maharajah's  dancing-girls,  and  in- 
forms us  that  the  entertainment  will  cost  each  mem- 
ber of  the  party  fifteen  rupees.  This  explanation  is 
perfectly  satisfactory  to  every  one,  and  especially 
to  the  kansamah,  who  will  pocket,  after  the  en- 
tertainment, a  year's  salary  from  the  remaining 
rupees. 

A  Delhi  Nautch  dance  means  something  new 
and  novel  even  for  India;  so  we  joined  the  party 
which  left  the  hotel  at  nine  o'clock.  Leaving  the 
gharri    at   a   certain   point,    we    followed    our    ser- 


2l6  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

vant,  who  holds  a  lantern  to  light  our  footsteps, 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  through  the  narrow  lanes 
of  the  native  town.  Stopping  before  a  low  and 
rather  mean  appearing  house,  we  entered  a  room 
where  ten  or  more  persons  were  sitting  about  in 
groups  on  the  floor,  smoking  hookahs.  We  filed 
past  these  dusky  figures,  half  hidden  by  the  smoke, 
to  our  place  of  honor, —  a  slightly  raised  dai's  arched 
off  the  room.  The  apartment  was  small,  and  cov- 
ered by  a  canvas  carpet  very  much  soiled  by  muddy 
feet.  Many  lamps  of  different  designs  —  old  lamps 
and  new  lamps,  rusty  lamps  and  dingy  lamps  — 
hung  from  the  ceiling.  The  wall  was  decorated 
with  highly  colored  advertisement  cards  and  very 
ancient  English  chromos,  brought  with  great  au- 
dacity in  close  relations  with  verses  from  the 
Koran.  It  is  altogether  the  most  primitive  amuse- 
ment hall  one  could  imagine,  but  the  more  in- 
teresting on  that  account. 

The  entertainment  was  opened  at  once  by  a  na- 
tive handing  us  bunches  of  roses  tied  with  fresh 
grasses,  which  he  passed  on  a  large  tray.  This 
was  followed  up  by  frequent  offerings  of  confec- 
tionery of  the  native  sort,  which  we  politely  tasted 
in  a  moment  of  courage,  and  then  regretted.  All 
this  time  the  robing  of  the  Nautch  girls  for 
the  performance  was  going  on  quite  informally 
before   our   eyes,    no    drop-curtain   being   dreamed 


NAUTCH    GIRLS. 


A    WELSH  RAREBIT.  21/ 

of;  and  I  amused  myself  by  studying  their  strange 
ornaments  and  fanciful  dresses,  and,  above  all, 
revelling  in  the  delight  of  something  absolutely 
fresh,  —  a  scene  unhinted  and  undescribed  by  brush 
or  pencil,  at  least  so  far  as  my  experience  goes. 
Everybody  in  the  room  except  the  audience  was 
sitting  on  the  floor,  huddled  together.  One  or  two 
of  the  girls  were  finishing  their  evening  meal,  or 
smoking  their  after-dinner  hookah. 

The  extraordinary  simplicity  of  the  entertain- 
ment which  now  began  was  only  to  be  equalled  by 
the  serious  dignity  in  which  it  was  conducted. 
Three  natives  proceed  with  the  orchestral  prelude. 
One  instrument  was  the  Indian  for  banjo.  Another 
man  held  two  halves  of  a  drum,  fastened  by  a  sash 
around  his  waist;  these  he  pounded  with  his  wrist, 
and  slapped  vigorously  with  the  palm  of  his  hand. 
The  third  man  in  the  trio  had  a  steel  cup  in  one 
hand,  and  struck  it  furiously  with  another  small  cup 
in  time  to  the  beating  of  the  drums.  This  musician 
was  quite  imposing  enough  to  be  a  drum-major, 
or  "Der  Trumpeter  von  Saxingen."  It  was  very 
amusing  to  see  a  baby  toy  in  the  hands  of  this 
superb,  full-grown  man.  The  tune  was  to  me 
what  Wagner  might  have  been  to  these  very  musi- 
cians,—  something  expressive  of  ideas  outside  the 
realm  of  my  musical  knowledge.  Very  deliber- 
ately, entirely  sans  fagoji,  from  a  group  in  the  half 


2l8  A    GIRL'S  WINTER   IN  INDIA. 

unearthly  atmosphere,  a  girl  arose  and  came  towards 
us  with  an  indifferent  air  and  the  remains  of  her 
dinner  still  rolling  around  under  her  tongue.  This 
young  woman  was  really  quite  pretty,  her  slight 
figure  undulating  slowly  with  every  step.  Her 
dress  has  long  red  sleeves  studded  with  jewels, 
flowers,  and  precious  stones;  a  full  skirt  falls  to 
her  anklets.  The  sweetest  little  bare  feet  just 
peeped  from  under  the  golden  pleats  of  her  skirt, 
and  the  little  brown  toes  have  each  a  gold  hoop, 
which  did  not  look  bizarre,  but  neat  and  effective. 
She  wore  a  graceful  tulle  veil,  draped  from  the 
head;  and  her  ears  were  weighted  down  by  chains 
and  pendants,  some  of  which  also  adorned  her  neck 
and  hair,  all  jingling  in  time  with  every  movement. 
The  Italian  castanets  are  replaced  by  silver  bells 
about  the  ankles,  which  "  chime  light  laughter 
around  the  restless  feet."  She  raises  her  beauti- 
ful hand,  the  palms  and  fingers  painted  rosy  red, 
and  begins  to  propel  herself  in  time  to  the  music. 

So  far,  it  is  just  as  you  had  expected.  The  dan- 
cing was  the  first  disappointment.  Here  were  all 
the  best  dancers  in  Delhi,  and  these  were  the  fa- 
mous dances.  The  girls  move,  attitudinize,  and 
pose,  but  do  not  dance.  It  was  very  tiresome,  the 
repetition  of  each  dance  by  one  of  the  four  Nautch 
girls;  and  when  we  were  informed  at  the  end  of 
an   hour  that  their   repertoire  was  exhausted,    and 


A    WELSH  RAREBIT.  219 

they  could  only  repeat  the  programme,  we  promptly 
declined.  Far  prettier  were  the  strolling  Nautch 
girls  of  the  street,  who  danced  under  our  window 
to-day,  wearing  beautiful  rosy  costumes,  glittering 
from  head  to  foot  in  tinsel,  a  spangled  veil  stream- 
ing from  the  head,  like  an  Italian  regina  cceli. 
They  look  up  with  a  smiling  glance,  their  eyes 
sparkling  and  bright,  give  a  gracious  salaam,  and 
become  at  once  entirely  absorbed  in  the  dance; 
their  slender  forms  bend  and  sway  and  pose,  and 
postures  follow  in  quick  succession,  but  with  what 
grace,  what  art,  what  lovely  curves  and  infinity  of 
bewitching  attitudes!  The  charm  deepens  into  sur- 
prise; astonished,  you  clasp  your  hands  and  watch 
breathlessly  a  childish  figure  take  a  graceful  posi- 
tion, throw  back  her  head,  sink  it  slowly  to  the 
ground,  pick  up  a  silver  anna  with  her  white  teeth, 
and  rise  again  without  apparent  effort,  or  entangle- 
ment in  her  full  draperies.  It  was  a  scene,  the 
color,  atmosphere,  and  effect,  as  if  taken  from  a 
framed  Gerome  in  the  Luxembourg;  after  this,  I 
felt  that  before  I  should  again  see  anything  so  per- 
fect, Time  would  indeed  have  a  chance  to  throw 
*'a  dart  at  me." 


220  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

JEYPORE,   THE   CITY   OF  THE   RAJPUTS. 

February  21. 

WHERE  shall  I  find  a  wishing-cap  that  will 
transport  me  a  volonte  to  this  roseate  city? 
Fancy  a  seven-gated  wall,  topped  by  stone  turrets, 
between  pierced  screens,  enclosing  a  broad,  airy 
city  built  of  pink-and-white  stucco  and  marble.  In 
moments  you  liken  it  to  a  confectionery  village, — 
a  rosy  fondu  with  sugar  decorations;  and  the  cin- 
namon-skinned natives  to  gingerbread  men.  The 
architecture  is  called  Hindu  Saracenic,  but  the 
style  fills  your  mind  much  more  with  images  of 
fairy  tales.  Through  these  broad  streets,  lanes, 
and  squares  nothing  changes;  every  building  is 
mellow,  and  softly  outlined  with  open  Arabesque 
galleries  edging  the  flat  roofs.  Jeypore  is  like 
another  world.  I  might  as  well  write  about  Baby- 
lon, Sodom,  or  Nineveh.  Driving  through  the  town 
you  see  just  what  were  the  occupations  of  ancient 
Corinth  or  any  other  Biblical  town.  Here,  on  the 
street    corners,    squatting   on   the   ground,   are   the 


,-«/ 


A   GRAIN    BAZAAR. 


JEYPORE,    THE   CITY  OF   THE   RAJPUTS.       221 

money-changers,  their  piles  of  pice  and  coin  spread 
out  on  a  mat  before  them.  An  Indian  rupee  is 
divided  into  sixteen  annas;  each  anna  represents 
four  pice;  every  pice,  three  pies:  and  from  the 
initial  letters  of  the  metal  coinage  —  rupees,  an- 
nas, pice  —  originated  the  expression,  "Don't  care  a 
rap."  In  the  bazaars,  the  lowest  coins  are  reduced 
to  shells,  which  are  again  subdivided  into  seeds, ^ 
the  currency  of  the  natives. 

Farther  on  are  the  grain-dealers,  sifting  lovely 
grains  through  a  straw  pan,  which  fall  on  the  bare 
ground ;  while  a  boy  with  a  long  bamboo  pole,  with 
a  bit  of  muslin  on  the  end,  is  frightening  away  hun- 
dreds of  crows  to  prevent  their  stealing  the  scattered 
kernels.  In  the  middle  of  the  open  squares  pigeons 
are  feasting  in  great  numbers  where  the  camels  rested 
with  their  bundles  of  grain  the  night  before.  There 
are  fifty  times  as  many  here  as  in  Venice.  The 
streets  are  filled  with  men  and  women,  busy,  and 
contented  apparently  with  primitive  life.  It  would 
be  very  natural  for  an  ancient  Hebrew  to  take  up 
his  abode  here.  If  he  would  go  to  the  house-top  to 
pray,  here  are  the  flat  roofs  made  for  the  purpose; 
if  he  cared  for  exercise,  he  could  mount  one  of 
the  dromedaries  waiting  about  the  streets,  and  in 
the  pleasure  of  a  gentle  trot,  camel-back,  forget 
the  "inspired  monotony"  of  the  Eastern  harp. 
Women,  in  coral-tinted  saris  dyed  a  lovely  shade 


222  A    GIRLS  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

called  Sangamir,  grinding  flour,  were  a  common 
picture.  Two  girls  sitting  on  the  roadside,  a  stone 
between  them,  their  two  arms  clasped  about  a  peg 
in  the  centre,  are  grinding  a  heap  of  grain,  which 
rolls  out  higher  and  higher  from  under  the  stone, 
and  mixes  with  the  dust  of  the  street.  Their  va- 
rious movements  are  charming, —  leaning  forward 
and  retreating  to  the  even  buzz  of  the  stone  as  it 
turns  on  its  wooden  axis. 

This  is  the  most  Oriental  town  we  have  seen. 
Men  still  wear  their  armor, —  shield  and  swords 
of  steel  inlaid  with  iron  and  gold, —  and  are  actually- 
mounted  on  horses,  their  saddles  striped  with  silver 
and  gold,  and  gay  fringes  hanging  from  the  reins. 
Elephants  tread  softly  about  the  streets,  wearing  a 
double  collar  of  tinkling  bells  to  warn  the  people. 
In  the  evening  their  keepers  bring  them  to  drink 
from  the  fresh  street  fountains.  At  only  one  well 
is  there  a  modern  faucet  for  drawing  water.  The 
Mahometans,  like  all  the  natives,  are  utterly  opposed 
to  this  innovation,  and  continue  to  draw  the  water 
by  slowly  letting  down  a  rope,  to  which  is  attached 
a  leather  bucket ;  for  time  is  nothing  to  an  Eastern 
mind,  neither  is  the  saving  of  it.  One  evening  a 
funny  thing  happened  while  a  man  was  drawing  up 
the  bucket;  with  one  twist  the  thirsty  animal  seized 
the  faucet,  turned  on  the  water,  and  applying  his  long 
trunk  to  the  fresh-running  stream,  contentedly  drank 


JEYrORE,    THE   CITY  OF   THE   RAJPUTS.       223 

his  fill.  The  accents  of  his  reproachful  grunts 
seemed  to  say  very  plainly  to  his  black  companion, 
the  keeper,  "Conservatism  is  all  very  fine,  sounds 
well ;  but  if  we  Orientals  keep  our  heads  above 
water,  we  must  make  these  infidel  inventions  serve 
us  to  do  it." 

As  regards  sentiment,  the  origin  of  the  Rajputs 
is  as  delightfully  unreal  and  brilliant  as  their  rosy 
city  is  romantic.  The  traditions  of  Rajputana  are 
described  by  Talboys  Wheeler,  who  tells  us  so  de- 
lightfully what  I  have  condensed  in  a  few  words. 
The  Rajputs,  or  sons  of  the  Rajahs,  whose  an- 
cestors won  their  spurs  of  victories  over  aborigi- 
nal, pre-Aryan  races  since  the  dawn  of  history,  and 
who  date  back  to  the  sun  and  moon,  would  smile 
at  the  claims  of  Norman  blood.  The  Rajputs 
founded  independent  kingdoms,  resembling  feudal 
institutions,  acknowledging  the  usual  allegiance  to 
the  great  Rajah,  or  Maharajah,  whose  exact  con- 
nection with  the  thakoors,  or  nobles,  was  of  a  pa- 
triarchal nature;  and  to  this  day  the  lowest  among 
the  people  call  him  "my  father."  The  legendary 
war  of  the  "  Mahabharata "  relates  in  the  Sanscrit 
language  the  famous  contest  between  the  Kauravas 
and  Pandavas,  the  descendants  of  a  king  of  Delhi. 
According  to  tradition,  the  Pandavas  brothers 
gained  the  victory,  and  the  eldest  gave  all  the 
Rajahs  a  great   feast,  —  slaughtered   a   horse,    and 


224  ^    GIRVS  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

duly  roasted  its  flesh  before  the  fire, —  a  sign  to 
all  men  that  he  had  become  sovereign  over  all  the 
land  of  the  Rajputs.  Now,  for  five  centuries  the 
clans  have  absolutely  no  history  that  you  can  find 
out;  and,  therefore,  like  other  nations  in  like  cir- 
cumstances, we  are  left  to  suppose  them  corre- 
spondingly happy. 

But  all  this  time  Kshatriyas  (warriors)  were  train- 
ing for  future  opportunities  in  the  use  of  spears  and 
bows,  the  Brahmins  chanted  the  sacred  Vedas,  and 
the  condition  of  the  poor  Sudras  did  not  differ  ma- 
terially from  the  peasant  of  to-day ;  for  the  great  Epic 
has  drawn  tight  the  Eastern  line  of  caste,  which  has 
never  yet  been  slackened.  For  already  the  Brahmins 
(priests)  appear  in  the  highest  rank,  for  they  pro- 
ceeded from  the  head  of  Brahma;  then  the  Ksha- 
triyas, or  soldiers ;  next  in  importance  sprang  from 
his  mighty  arms  the  Vaisyas,  or  merchants,  who  rep- 
resent the  Creator's  third  choice;  while  the  Siidras, 
or  cultivators,  were  only  given  the  chance  to  crawl 
out  from  under  his  feet;  and  the  rest  of  mankind 
were  left  to  cast  their  lot  in  one  of  these  four 
divisions. 

There  came  a  time,  however,  when  the  mighty 
aristocracy  of  Rajputana  endured  the  fall, —  said  to 
be  the  consequence  of  pride.  About  the  tenth  cen- 
tury of  our  era  the  old  Rajput  kingdom  was  invaded 
by  a  strong  race  of  Tartars,  against  whom  there  was 


JEYPORE,    THE   CITY  OF   THE   RAJPUTS.       225 

no  Standing.  The  elephants  employed  by  the  Hindus 
to  charge  the  enemy,  maddened  by  the  Mahometan 
arrows,  turned  on  the  Rajput  army,  and  trampled 
them  down.  After  this  the  ancient  cities  on  the 
Jumna  and  Ganges  were  deserted,  and  their  chief 
founded  his  court  at  Chitor,  where  the  old  for- 
tress still  stands  in  the  centre  of  this  native  state. 
Though  belonging  to  the  conquered  race,  the  Maha- 
ranee of  Chitor  never  consented  to  make  a  viesalli- 
ajice  with  the  Mogul.  At  this  time  Al-ud-Deen 
was  Sultan  of  Delhi,  and  was  bent  on  a  conquest  of 
Chitor,  influenced  by  certain  conventional  reasons 
which  make  love  and  war  almost  identical  in  his- 
tory. There  are  always  the  same  wronged  affec- 
tions to  be  righted,  and  always  the  same  melancholy 
maid  to  be  rescued;  and  the  mighty  sword  invari- 
ably does  it, —  a  custom  which  even  modern  civi- 
lization has  as  yet  tried  in  vain  to  dispel. 

A  strange  thing  is  said  now  to  have  happened ;  but 
I  will  not  ask  you  to  accept  the  story,  which  re- 
lates that  during  the  siege  of  their  town  for  the 
possession  of  the  Hindu  princess,  the  Rajputs  at 
Chitor  resisted  the  Mahometans  until  they  were 
starved  out,  and  there  was  no  alternative  but  to 
die  or  surrender.  At  last  they  resolved  to  perform 
a  terrible  rite  of  self-sacrifice,  which  was  not  un- 
frequent  in  ancient  times,  and  was  known  as  the 
joJiiir.      Huge  piles   of  timber  were  raised  up  in  a 

15 


226  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

declivity,  and  set  on  fire.  The  women  approached 
in  a  funeral  procession,  and  threw  themselves  into 
the  flames.  The  men  arrayed  themselves  in  saf- 
fron-colored garments,  and  rushed  out  of  the  for- 
tress, sword  in  hand.  Most  of  the  warriors  were 
cut  to  pieces;  but  a  few  escaped  through  the  Ma- 
hometan lines,  and  made  their  way  to  the  Ararulli 
Mountains.  The  flame  and  smoke  of  the  horrible 
sacrifice  was  still  rising  above  the  hecatomb  of 
female  victims  when  Al-ud-Deen  made  his  way 
through  the  heaps  of  slaughtered  Rajputs  into  the 
old  rock  fortress  of  Chitor. 

His  Highness,  the  Maharajah  of  Jeypore,  is  said 
to  be  the  thirty-ninth  descendant  in  unbroken  line 
from  Rama,  who  was  himself  an  incarnation  of 
Vishnu,  the  most  commendable  member  of  the 
Hindu  trinity ;  and  it  is  certain  that  the  dynasties 
of  Jeypore  have  occupied  the  throne  since  the  end 
of  the  tenth  century.  These  pretensions  to  a  re- 
mote antiquity  are  pleasantly  acknowledged  by  day, 
in  the  homage  paid  to  Surya-Vasni,  "the  Children 
of  the  Sun." 

Near  the  Tripolia  Gate  is  the  imperial  residence 
of  Rogit  Singh,  —  a  perfect  subject  for  the  brush  of 
Zamagois, —  the  soft  light  falling  on  rosy  arches 
and  pavements  and  towers,  the  greenest  of  gardens 
making  beautiful  every  open  space,  but  all  the 
time  owing  its  greatest  charm  to  the  rich,  warm 


JEYPORE,    THE    CITY  OF   THE   RAJPUTS.       22/ 

color.  The  stables  are  the  feature  of  the  place, 
and  came  as  a  refreshing  relief  from  temples  and 
palaces;  and  as  we  had  seen  but  few  fine  horses  in 
India,  I  regret  not  being  able  to  see  those  more 
thoroughly.  The  Maharajah  elephants  number  about 
one  hundred.  The  fighting  ones  were  kept  in  con- 
finement; but  others  were  being  exercised  leisurely 
in  open  spaces  in  the  palace  rear, —  great,  splendid 
creatures,  with  large  ears,  painted  gold  and  red  in 
diamond  patterns,  and  many  rows  of  tinkling  bells 
hung  around  the  neck.  We  stopped  the  carriage, 
and  B.  and  I  exclaimed,  ''This  is  the  best  of  all, 
not  a  step  farther  will  we  go;"  and  the  mother 
nodded  approvingly,   as  usual. 

In  no  other  city  in  the  world  is  the  architecture 
so  fantastic,  so  audaciously  original.  Every  quarter 
of  Jeypore  has  an  infinite  number  of  quaint  minarets 
and  frescoed  galleries  peculiar  to  itself.  It  is  this 
freshness  and  originality  which  attracts  you.  There 
are  no  marvels  like  the  Taj  or  the  Pearl  Musjid  at 
Delhi,  everything  here  is  stucco,  but  has  an  inde- 
scribable beauty  all  its  own.  The  most  beautiful  of 
the  palaces,  as  it  soars  above  everything  else,  is  the 
Hawa-Mahal,  "the  Hall  of  the  Winds."  It  rises 
like  a  fairy  palace  of  fresh  almond  blossoms,  five 
stories,  and  all  tapering  gracefully  towards  the  soft 
blue  sky,  with  hundreds  of  little  balconies  and 
overhanging  windows  and  kiosks,  every  one  screened 


228  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

with  fretwork,  topped  with  innumerable  small  flags. 
This  is  the  royal  zenana, —  an  unknown  and  mys- 
terious palace,  a  seraglio,  an  immense  monastery 
"whose  religion  is  pleasure  and  whose  god  is  the 
Maharajah."  No  wonder  an  English  duchess,  when 
visiting  Jeypore,  craved  a  sight  of  these  pearls  of 
the  East, —  the  Peris,  the  Nourmahals,  and  the 
Cashmere  beauties.  A  story  current  in  Jeypore, 
relates  that  her  Highness  of  Connaught  so  horri- 
fied the  Maharajah  by  a  request  to  see  his  harem 
that  it  required  the  utmost  diplomacy  on  the  part 
of  England  to  appease  his  injured  dignity. 

Another  day  we  spent  at  the   Jeypore   museum, 

—  a  new  hall  built  in  memory  of  the  visit  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  and  filled  with  specimens  of  In- 
dian workmanship.  The  gardens  have  cages  for 
tigers,  lions,  and  almost  every  species  of  Indian 
wild  beast.  The  tigers  are  man-eaters,  very  beauti- 
fully striped,  and  quite  unlike  the  animals  one  sees 
in   menageries.     We   stopped  to   see  the  cheetah, 

—  the  hunting  leopard,  —  employed  by  sportsmen  to 
hunt  the  antelope.  It  was  tied  to  a  charpoy  by  the 
roadside.  The  leopard  gracefully  consented  to  be 
stroked  and  admired;  and  so  easily  has  this  habit 
become  second  nature  in  the  East,  I  pulled  out  my 
purse  and  tossed  some  pice  to  his  cheetahship  on 
the  spot,  expecting  to  hear  the  animal  exclaim  in 
the  usual  whine,   "Backsheesh,   Mem  Sahib,   back- 


JEYPORE,    THE   CITY  OF   THE   RAJPUTS.       229 

sheesh."  I  solemnly  declare,  to  my  utmost  dis- 
may, the  cheetah  glared  at  me,  and  B.  laughed 
heartily. 

The  tallest  building  in  Jeypore  is  the  lat,  or 
tower,  raised  by  the  Rajah  Istre,  who  gave  it  his 
name.  From  all  points  in  the  city  it  is  the  most 
striking  feature  of  every  view,  towering  above  tem- 
ples and  house-tops,  exciting  your  curiosity  a  dozen 
times  a  day,  until  you  have  gone,  as  it  were,  to  the 
root  of  it,  and  have  looked  long  and  approvingly 
at  it, —  being  a  woman,  and  having  heard  its  roman- 
tic story,  which  begins  quite  familiarly:  "Once 
upon  a  time "  there  reigned  in  Jeypore  a  prince, 
who,  being  very  young  and  very  intelligent,  held 
his  own  views  about  matrimony.  One  day  he  saw 
from  his  window  a  lovely  Banniah  girl,  and  fell 
desperately  in  love  with  her.  This  created  a  fine 
sensation  in  the  town,  and  caused  great  alarm  to 
the  Grand  Vizier,  who  immediately  called  a  goodly 
gathering  of  nobles,  who  of  course  disapproved  en 
bloc, — for,  as  usually  happens  in  such  affairs,  the 
current  of  true  love  runs  most  decidedly  contrary. 
But  although  the  Rajah  renounced  the  marriage,  he 
set  to  work  at  once  to  outwit  the  Vizier;  and  com- 
manded a  lofty  tower  to  be  erected  near  her  dwell- 
ing, where  he  spent  his  days  watching  his  inacces- 
sible sweetheart  grind  her  corn. 


230  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

February  22. 

One  is  never  tired  of  hearing  about  these  Rajputs ; 
and  I  listened  to-day  to  a  story  from  the  lips  of  a 
Scotch  minister  of  much  influence  here, —  a  man 
who  sits  on  the  Maharajah's  left  at  the  durbars.  He 
said,  "You  know  my  friend  who  was  burned  yes- 
terday? He  was  the  second  peer  of  the  realm,  de- 
scendant of  a  great  family,  a  Rajput,  dating  far 
back  to  the  very  creation  of  the  sun.  A  few  days 
ago  three  of  us  were  standing  at  his  bedside, —  the 
prime  minister,  Rao,  first  noble  of  Jeypore,  and 
myself.  My  friend  had  been  very  ill,  but  from  my 
small  medical  knowledge  I  thought  him  better,  and 
so  assured  the  young  nobleman.  He  was  a  splendid 
fellow;  and  often  I  would  walk  to  his  house  in  the 
warm  season,  and  find  him  in  the  evening,  after  a 
meeting  of  the  Council  of  State,  sitting,  as  is  the 
custom,  on  the  floor,  in  his  native  white  drapery 
of  fine  linen,  reading  from  the  Bible.  Often  and 
often  I  have  found  him  so  reading.  But  now  he 
would  not  listen  to  our  assurances  of  recovery.  He 
waves  his  hands  impatiently  to  dismiss  such  a 
thought,  and  says,  'Take  me,  my  friends,  to  the 
field  of  battle.  I  only  ask  to  die  in  action  like 
my  ancestors;  or  move  me  away  from  a  bed  of 
sickness  to  die  alone,  bravely,  and  not  a  burden  to 
you,  my  best  friends.'  Then  I  said,  *Thakoor,  it 
is  true  your  ancestors  died  in  battle,  but  it  is  for 


JEYPCRE,    THE   CITY  OF  THE  RAJPUTS.       23 1 

you  to  be  so  brave  as  to  suffer  sickness,  and  show 
yourself  to  be  a  true  and  brave  Rajput.'  Then 
he  quietly  instructed  us  to  have  his  sons  take  a 
high  degree  at  Government  College.  He  was  very 
wealthy,  owner  of  villages  and  great  estates.  We 
told  him  smilingly  he  would  soon  be  well;  but  he 
had  a  presentiment  at  that  moment  that  he  should 
die.     To-day  my  friend   is  dead. 

"Some  years  ago  he  came  to  me,  slapped  me 
gayly  on  the  back,  and  said,  'Padre  Sahib,  in 
my  fields  I  have  a  garden  of  chillies.  Now 
they  are  sown,  I  will  watch  them;  and  when  the 
sun  has  turned  the  fruit  to  crimson,  I  will 
send  the  chillies  to  the  market.  And  this  I  said 
when  the  field  was  sown,  "All  the  profits  I  will 
give  to  Padre  Sahib;"  and  here  are  one  hun- 
dred and  sixty  rupees,  eight  annas,  and  two  pice. 
Will  you  take  them.  Padre  Sahib.? '  Then  a  thought 
suddenly  came  to  me,  and  I  said,  'Would  you  like 
me  to  use  this  money  for  a  Bible-cart.?  '  'As  you 
wish.  Padre  Sahib.'  And  with  the  money  I  had  a 
cart  made  and  paid  a  man  for  one  year  to  drive  it, 
selling  the  books  about  the  streets  of  Jeypore,— a 
living  monument  to  the  man  you  know,  who  was 
burned  yesterday  in  his  own  garden.  Sometimes 
eighty  Bibles  are  thus  sold  in  one  month,  — and 
^  he  was  a  heathen. '  " 


2^2  A    GIRL'S  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

AN  ELEPHANT   RIDE  TO   AMBER. 

February  23. 

THIS  morning  I  was  awakened  very  early  by  a 
voice  calling  through  the  keyhole  of  my  bed- 
room door,  "Six  o'clock,  Mem  Sahib;  time  for 
chota-hazri."  And  soon  after  an  Oriental  brought 
me  in  a  tray  with  tea  and  toast,  with  which  begins 
the  day  for  India  as  invariably  as  the  sun.  But  we 
were  quite  disrespectful  to  that  breakfast,  scarcely 
glanced  at  it,  eager  not  to  lose  a  moment  of  the 
pleasure  before  us,  —  an  elephant  ride  to  Amber, 
the  ancient  but  deserted  capital  of  Jeypore. 

The  morning  was  very  beautiful,  — the  sky  clear, 
every  green  thing  freshness  itself.  Our  road  was 
bordered  by  tall  cactus-plants,  making  a  wonderful 
hedge,  all  budding,  ready  in  another  week  to  burst 
out  in  red  flowers.  The  drive  wound  through  a 
valley,  on  either  side  were  mountains  gray  and  bleak, 
like  the  castle-crowned  peaks  of  Lower  Italy.  Hun- 
dreds of  peacocks  were  flying  from  branches  of  the 
mango-trees,  alighting  on  the  domes  of  the  mosques 


AN  ELEPIIAXT  RIDE    TO   AMBER.  233 

and  shrines  so  frequent  in  the  East.  Indeed,  the 
most  striking  characteristic  of  every  scene  in  North- 
ern India  is  a  rounded  dome;  it  is  what  the  way- 
side cross  is  to  Italy,  and  the  white  church-spire 
to  New  England.  Up  in  the  tamarinds  troops  of 
monkeys  chatter  and  frolic;  and  among  the  ancient 
carvings,  green  parrots,  grown  fearless  by  long  se- 
curity, have  settled  in  flocks,  as  if  by  some  secret 
instinct  just  where  their  color  w^ould  harmonize 
and  contrast  with  the  asoka-trees,  which  only  blos- 
som, their  poets  say,  when  touched  by  the  foot  of 
a  Brahmin  girl;  and  there  were  plenty  of  partridges 
also,  perfectly  unmolested  and  without  game  laws, 
too.  Over  our  heads  pigeons  fly  in  solid  masses, 
and  dip  down  and  spread  a  light  gray  patch  over 
the  country.  The  whole  place  is  buzzing,  hum- 
ming, and  resonant  with  the  wild  life  of  birds  and 
animals  in  this  great  free  Zqo.  Now  and  then  a 
large  bird  stalks  fearlessly  along  on  the  edge  of 
the  marshes,  —  a  tempting  mark  for  the  sportsman. 
If  a  gun  were  raised,  it  would  be  instantly  lowered. 
Why.?  It  is  a  lyre-bird,  which  mates  only  once 
in  its  life;  and  if  shot,  the  living  bird  would  al- 
ways be  a  widow.  The  road  is  lined  with  streams 
of  creaking  wagons,  or  ekhds,  with  purdahs  lowered, 
and  drawn  by  superb  white  bullocks.  Sometimes, 
the  women,  hidden  from  sight,  manage  to  get  their 
little  look   at   the   outside  world   through    a    large 


234  ^    GIRVS  WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

slit,  shaped  like  a  button-hole,  quite  in  the  centre 
of  the  curtain;  by  inserting  their  small  fingers,  and 
by  dint  of  spreading  them  quite  wide,  they  can 
separate  the  opening  a  little  more  than  the  "  law 
allows." 

After  a  drive  of  four  miles  we  reached  the  enor- 
mous black  elephants  provided  by  the  Maharajah  of 
Jeypore,  who  were  resting  and  waiting  for  us  under 
a  banyan-tree.  What  sport  we  had  in  mounting! 
Now,  ever  since  I  arrived  in  India  I  have  been  pin- 
ing to  ride  an  elephant.  Here,  at  last,  is  one  before 
me, —  a  splendid  black  fellow;  his  ears  decorated, 
likewise  his  fine  head,  with  paint  of  brightest  colors 
in  queer  Indian-rug  designs.  The  next  thing  was 
to  mount.  The  keeper  touched  him  on  his  fore- 
head with  his  hook;  the  beast  obediently  began  to 
lower  himself,  but  very  deliberately,  and  went  down 
on  his  knees,  still  looking  like  a  mountain.  We 
did  not  waste  a  moment.  B.  was  the  first  to  lie 
out  luxuriously  in  the  houdah  in  dreamy  repose, 
and  I  was  soon  beside  her.  The  mahout  manages 
his  elephant  craft  with  a  sharp,  two-pointed  hook, 
and  one  prick  is  the  signal  to  rise. 

The  line  of  country  we  followed  that  morning  was 
extraordinarily  pretty  and  Eastern.  The  distant 
hills  rolled  gently  down  to  the  ground  over  which 
we  rode.  Every  now  and  then  we  passed  a  string 
of  camels,  each  one  tied  by  the  nose  to  the  tail  of 


AN  ELEPHANT  RIDE    TO   AMBER.  235 

the  one  in  front.  What  would  not  one  give  to 
walk  like  the  men  and  women  we  meet  straggling 
towards  the  town!  How  beautifully  erect  they  hold 
themselves!  and  the  same  can  be  said  for  their  bear- 
ing. They  are  carrying  bundles  of  grain  in  a  linen 
sheet,  tied  once  in  a  knot;  and  we  notice  that  the 
grain  which  remained  on  the  edge  in  filling  the  bun- 
dle has  not  stirred  or  tumbled  off  in  the  long  jour- 
ney. They  are  the  vainest  of  races, —  these  women  ; 
there  are  touches  of  it  among  the  lower  orders ;  the 
mirror-rings  worn  on  the  thumbs  testify  to  that. 
We  saw  often  a  group  of  holiday  makers  in  a  grove 
by  the  roadside, —  the  women  in  gayly-embroidered 
head-sheets  {phoidicaries),  sparkling  with  bits  of 
mirrors  inserted  in  the  pattern,  and  the  children 
tumbling  around  on  the  grass,  wearing  brightest 
tinsel  caps  and  jackets.  All  these  people  have 
come  here  to  do  "poojah  "  to  the  idol.  Close  beside 
is  the  shrine,  all  garlanded  with  green  creepers 
and  flowering  vines,  where  sagacious  Ganesh,  "  the 
elephant  god,"  is  looking  wise  and  very  shiny  in 
a  fresh  coat  of  brilliant  red  paint,  bestowed  on 
him  by  a  devout  Hindu  worshipper. 

After  a  few  more  miles  of  hills,  we  slowly 
approach  beautiful  Amber, —  Amber,  with  its  un- 
dulating site,  the  mellow  tones  of  its  ancient 
castle  reflected  in  a  hazy  lake,  and  its  turrets 
vaguely  outlined  against  the  mountain  background. 


236  A    GIRVS   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

The  elephant  winds  up  the  narrow  roadway,  al- 
most brushing  us  off  at  the  narrow  portals;  and 
a  bell  rings  to  announce  that  we  have  reached 
the  very  top.  An  echo  repeats  the  sound,  and  the 
frightened  peacocks  fly  buzzing  through  the  air, 
like  a  long  comet,  —  a  sweep  of  green  and  blue. 
Suddenly  we  realize  that  there  is  not  one  human 
being  for  miles  who  can  speak  English  or  anything 
else  except  Urdu.  Shanker  had  remained  in  charge 
of  the  carriage.  Here  we  were  in  Central  India, 
with  two  Eastern  servants  and  a  keeper  of  ele- 
phants, on  the  landing  of  the  stairway  to  a  de- 
serted palace,  with  only  the  still  and  silent  crea- 
tures who  lived  there  moving  about  as  in  a  dream. 
And  the  faint,  far-away  bell  rang  once,  as  if  to 
summon  up  the  dead  spirits  of  warrior  Rajputs 
who  lived  here  ages  ago.  "  Summon  "  is  the  word 
which  seems  most  in  touch  with  the  enchanted 
palace;  and  we  had  a  strong  conviction  that  they 
would  be  on  hand  if  needed.  The  palace  surrounds 
a  large  square,  where  hundreds  of  buffaloes  are 
sacrificed  every  year  to  Kali.  A  servant  comes 
up,  and  motions  us  to  follow  him.  Straightway  we 
mount  a  long  stairway,  and  at  the  end  are  signalled 
to  remove  our  shoes ;  "  for  the  place  on  which  we 
stand  is  holy  ground."  From  a  dark  recess  glares 
a  dark-blue  image,  in  full  skirts  of  gold  cloth.  It 
is  Devi,  the  Destroyer.     The  priest  was,  as  usual, 


A.V  ELEPHANT  RIDE    TO   AMBER.  237 

idling  about;  two  women  were  piously  prostrated 
in  adoration.  The  shrine  was  lined  with  flowers, 
and  sputtering  candle-ends  burnt  low  in  brass  sau- 
cers,—  a  bit  of  Italy  in  Indian  masquerade.  An  icy 
marble  floor  was  chilling  us  through  and  through. 
We  stopped  only  long  enough  to  toss  a  rupee  to 
each  attendant  priest,  and  were  soon  walking 
through  endless  marble  rooms.  The  names  have 
slipped  my  memory.  In  time  the  guide  mar- 
shalled us  to  a  lovely  apartment,  where  a  shimmer 
of  light  flooded  the  room, — a  mirror-room;  ex- 
quisitely carved  Saracenic  arches  were  studded 
with  gold-edged  bits  of  looking-glass.  The  room 
was  known  as  the  "  Shish  Mahal." 

From  an  upper  gallery  you  look  down  on  the 
most  wonderful  view  in  all  the  world.  Just  below 
is  an  emerald  lake,  dotted  with  islands,  where  wild 
peacocks  with  sunlit  plumage  dart  from  the  thick 
shrubbery.  The  near  hills  seem  to  fold  about  the 
little  brown-and-gray  town  of  Amber,  as  if  to  pro- 
tect her  precious  old  ruins.  The  green  of  spring 
and  summer  is  only  half  suggested  now,  but  the 
warm  soil-tints  make  up  for  the  fresh  green  of 
young  grass.  All  sizes  of  monkeys  run  wild  over 
temples  and  niches,  and  jump  from  tree  to  tree  in 
perfect  liberty  to  follow  their  own  will  and  wish. 
The  distant  hills  are  enchantingly  beautiful;  every 
pinnacle  crested  with  castles,   violet  and  brownish 


238  A    GIRL'S   WINTER   IN  INDIA. 

in  the  soft  atmosphere  of  an  Indian  morning.  We 
can  trace  the  road  we  have  just  passed  over,  and 
can  see  more  elephants  curving  down  the  hill- 
sides. In  another  moment  we  are  taking  one  lin- 
gering farewell  look  at  Amber,  and  pass  out  and 
beyond  the  palace  gateway.  Suddenly,  close  by 
my  side,  a  harsh  voice  breaks  the  stillness:  "Good 
critics  refuse  to  acknowledge  the  charm  of  Amber. 
Its  palace  is  a  mere  mass  of  stucco, —  a  florid  horror 
to  be  escaped  from  as  quickly  as  possible."  It  was 
one  of  the  tourists,  whose  elephant  we  had  seen 
approaching,  reading  from  a  guide-book. 

Bombay,  February  28. 

At  the  Esplanade  Hotel  once  more.  We  trav- 
elled from  Jeypore  direct,  stopped  at  Ahmedabad 
for  dinner,  and  the  second  morning  pulled  up  into 
Church-gate  Station,  Bombay.  Mr.  K.  found  us 
out,  and  asked  us  to  dine  at  the  Yacht  Club;  and 
we  sailed  with  him  one  afternoon  to  Elephanta 
Island. 

We  left  the  Apollo  Bunder  about  three  in  the 
afternoon;  and  at  the  end  of  an  hour  and  a  half 
arrived  at  a  low  woody  island  nearly  opposite  to 
Bombay.  The  landing-place  is  so  difficult  of  ap- 
proach, on  account  of  the  pointed  rocks  near  the 
shore  and  the  shallowness  of  the  water,  that  we  were 
told  the  natives  formerly  waded  out  to  the  boat,  and 


AN  ELEPHANT  RIDE    TO  AMBER.  239 

took  the  passengers  ashore  on  their  backs.  A  sou- 
venir of  one  of  the  lordly  visits  t©  the  ICast,  of  its 
far-away  English  masters,  is  a  path  of  smooth-hewn 
rocks  built  out  in  the  water,  forming  a  sort  of  pier, 
through  which  the  water  rushes,  and  over  which 
you  are  obliged  to  jump  from  one  wet  and  slippery 
stone  to  another  to  reach  the  island.  I  had  formed 
a  picture  in  my  mind  as  to  what  Elephanta  would 
be  like,  and  found  it  almost  a  fac-simile.  The  side 
of  a  small  mountain  has  been  excavated  to  the 
depth  of  several  hundred  feet,  leaving  natural  pil- 
lars of  the  solid  rock,  which  form  the  aisles  of  the 
stony  basilica.  The  sides  are  sculptured  in  a  series 
of  events,  describing  the  life  of  Siva.  These  have 
been  so  injured  by  time,  tide,  and  the  Portuguese, 
who  drew  their  cannon  up  to  the  entrance  and  fired 
destroying  blasts,  that  they  are  no  longer  beautiful 
or  interesting,  except  to  an  archDeologist  or  natu- 
ralist; for  one  sees  here  specimens  of  every  known 
snake  crawling  about  the  pools  or  in  the  dark  re- 
cesses of  the  temple. 

From  Elephanta  we  return  in  the  steam-launch 
to  Bombay;  and  we  convince  ourselves  with  diffi- 
culty that  this  brings  our  days  in  India  to  a  close 
"as  a  tale  that  is  told."  And  when  I  look  back,  I 
would  dwell  on  them,  encore  every  one,  and  live 
over  again  each  hour;  and  were  the  offer  made  me, 


240  A    GIRL'S   WINTER  IN  INDIA. 

would  retrace  the  journey  step  by  step  before  it 
becomes  a  dream  and  the  memory  of  it  a  wish.  A 
journey  comes  to  an  end;  every  one's  passage  is 
taken  homeward  sooner  or  later,  by  steamer  or 
by  Charon's  Ferry;  but  the  events  and  happenings 
have  become  a  part  of  our  lives,  have  influenced 
them  forever.  Two  long  lines  of  smoke  blow  over 
the  harbor  from  the  steamship  "Ganges,"  bound  for 
Egypt.  Yes,  it  is  a  fact  that  this  is  our  last  night 
in  Bombay,  and  the  last  page  of  my  journal.  How 
hurried  and  imperfect  are  these  impressions!  —  the 
faintest  hint  of  real  feeling.  Shall  I  ever  be  able 
to  trace  the  subtle  poetry  and  magic  of  India  from 
a  bit  of  writing,  a  scrap  of  an  hour  here,  or  a  day 
there,  when  all  is  left  unsaid  that  could  make  it  a 
reality.?  And,  above  all,  shall  anything  in  these 
pages  induce  you  to  go  to  the  East?  If  not, 
what  have  you  gained  from  "A  Girl's  Winter  in 
India".? 


THE  END. 


KAKi:  BOOK 

(oi  1 1  c HON 


thk  library  ok  thk 

umvirsun  of 

north  c  aroi  ina 

AI 
CHAPFL  HILL 

Travel 

DS413 

.C29 


